


Palinopsia

by neomaumbra



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Multi, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomaumbra/pseuds/neomaumbra
Summary: After a transporter malfunction in the middle of a plasma storm, the late Jadzia Dax re-materializes aboard Deep Space Nine. As she struggles with the discovery that she has, in fact, died several months prior, her successor, Ezri, must fight with her own crisis of identity. Meanwhile, their friends and fellow crew members aboard Deep Space Nine must battle with their conflicting emotions over the situation.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who loves both Jadzia and Ezri Dax, this story is based on a concept for how they could both be alive and tackling some of the many questions that come along with that possibility, as well as some strings the series never quite tied up. The idea of the Trill species is one so interesting but still with so little of their culture well-defined during the show's run time. Note: I have not read any of the Star Trek books. This story is strictly based on information from the TV shows (TNG, DS9, & VOY). Time set as a few months after the final episode of DS9.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a plasma storm wreaking havoc on Bajor and Deep Space Nine, the skeleton crew is forced to activate a seldom-used cargo bay in what was once Terrok Nor's main armorments storage. As Ezri and O'Brien work to get the transporter working, a blast from the storm generates a power surge throughout the system, activating the last dormant pattern in the transporter buffers.

 

>  
> 
> **Palinopsia:** (noun) From the Greek _palin_ meaning “after” and _opsia_ meaning “seeing.” Medical term in psychology that refers to persisting or reoccuring visual imagery after its corresponding stimulus has left. This prolonged visual is often referred to as an “afterimage.”
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

Plasma storms.

They were violent, unpredictable, and if Ezri didn’t know any better she’d call them downright malevolent. But anthropomorphizing the storm would make it no easier to battle. She walked along the deserted promenade, checking off to make sure each window and airlock leading out into space was secured with the heavy duty, magnetized plates Chief O’Brien had designed. Her mind wandered to the last plasma storm Deep Space Nine had encountered, going on 6 years ago now, and felt her stomach twist at the memories -- some Jadzia’s, some Verad’s.

When Ezri had done a full pass around the habitat ring she tapped her communicator badge and called for Ops.

“Yes, sir?” O’Brien’s voice came over the comm link, staticy from the storm.  
“All’s clear here, Chief.” said Dax.  
“That’s great. You’d better head back up here to Ops. You can help me make sense of some of these sensor readings.”  
“On my way.” She tapped her badge again, ending the call.

Unlike last time, the crew had made sure that while evacuating the station Quark had been aboard the first shuttle down to Bajor. And while he wasn’t happy about it, he’d put up little resistance. Ezri had said she didn’t find it necessary, but Kira, still in command of the station since Benjamin’s sudden departure a few months prior, had insisted. The Colonel herself wasn’t even aboard. She’d gone down to Bajor to help with the relief efforts. This storm had been even worse than the last and it was wreaking havoc on power systems all over the planet. Even if it was just passing out blankets or Starfleet field rations and sending up replicator requests to the station, Dax knew her friend would have never been able to live with herself taking a purely administrative backseat when Bajor found itself in the crux of an emergency. Kira was always more of a hands-on type.

Within the hour, the eye of the storm would pass over the station. The remaining skeleton crew, a small collection of both Bajoran and Federation officers, led by Chief O’Brien, who’d been asked back on temporary assignment from his professorship at Starfleet Academy, were doing all they could to make sure that Deep Space Nine sustained as little damage as possible. And after approval from the provisional government, several Vedek’s stayed aboard as well, guarding the Orb of Clarity, one of the Tears of the Prophets which remained on DS9. They were in the monastery round the clock, praying to the prophets to see Bajor through this difficult time.

As the Cardassian lift opened onto the command deck and Ezri stepped off the platform, the Chief, alone in the normally bustling Center of Operations, shot her a quick glance before shaking his head and waving his arm over the monitor he’d been working at. “These Cardassian systems,” he said in a huff, “I don’t know how I ever dealt with them day in and day out!”

As she came to stand beside him, Ezri patted him on the shoulder, one part sympathy, one part amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your edge already.”

“It’s amazing what a few months back with comfortable, state-of-the-art Federation technology will do to you.”  
“You’re still the best man for the job. Nobody off of Cardassia knows these systems better than you. Maybe not even then.”  
“That’s what’s got me worried.”  
“Oh?”  
“Those readings I was telling you about. Can’t make heads or tails of them. Here, have a look.” He called up the program and Dax crossed her hands behind her back as she leaned in to examine it.  
“That… doesn’t make any sense,” she said, scrunching up her nose in confusion. “There must be something wrong with the external sensors. Have you tried realigning them?”

A somewhat ridiculous question. Of course someone with as much experience as the Chief would have already tried that. And about half a dozen other quick fixes any engineering student would know. Still, the kind man that he was, O’Brien didn’t say all that. Instead, he just nodded his head. “Already tried it. No luck. These readings are genuine.”

“But, according to this, the storm is going to be nearly twice as powerful near the eye than we originally calculated!” Ezri’s voice broke slightly on the last note. It had been awhile since she sounded like the frightened and confused young woman who had first walked onto Deep Space Nine over a year earlier. The sound of her voice just then surprised even her.

“I know…” O’Brien said, sounding grim.  
“Will the modifications to the station hold?”  
“I’m not sure. But there’s not enough time to do much else. I’m going to try an older method of polarizing the hull plates. Might give us just a hair more protection. And once the storm hits I’ll divert all power other than life support to the shields.”  
“Will that be enough?”  
“It’ll have to be. But -- there’s one more thing…”  
“And that is?” Ezri tried not to sound panicked.  
“The wormhole. There’s never before been a recorded plasma storm so close to one. There’s no way of knowing the effect it’ll have.”

They each paused for a long moment, soaking in the details of the situation and each arriving at the same, uncolorful conclusion.

“Well…” Dax said after a moment, always one to try and break up a tense situation with humor, “Jake sure will have something to write about for his article this week.”

The Chief laughed, but it seemed forced. “Yeah… that is, saying we survive it.”

 

* * *

 

 

As the storm drew closer, the distress calls from Bajor began to flood in. Electrical systems going haywire, atmospheric control centers malfunctioning, artificial satellites going wild or projecting false readings. All the while, the situation on the space station wasn’t much better. The remaining officers were working like mad to keep systems operational at the same time as replicating and beaming down much needed supplies to the planet below.

“I don’t believe this,” Dax shouted, jumping away from a monitor as a circuit blew and a spray of white hot sparks shot out. She just barely pulled herself away in time.

“Believe it,” O’Brien answered. He was shielding himself from another power overload, rolling out from underneath the center console as the smell of electrical fire filled Ops.

“We’ve got to get someplace more secure,” Dax said, making her way over to the fire extinguisher and spraying down the overheating consoles. It would be a headache to clean later, but at least it put out the flames that were threatening to surface.

Chief O’Brien gave a nod, “I just remembered — I was looking over the skymatics for the station on my transport from Earth. There’s a cargo area we retrofitted when we first took over the station. The Cardassians had used it as the main armorments bay for Terrok Nor.”

“Is it more fortified?” asked Dax.

The chief nodded, “That, and it’s got it’s own power generators. They’re old, and probably haven’t been started up for years, but—”

Right at that moment, another spray of electrical sparks shot out from the monitors. This time, the pulse of the storm outside sent a shockwave through the entire station. Ezri gropped wildly for something to grab onto as she and the Chief were each thrown against the side of the Ops central station. The whole deck went dark.

Dax finished off the statement for the chief: “...But it’s the only chance we’ve got.”

 

* * *

 

 

The heavy doors of the seldom-used cargo bay opened with a wailing sound of twisted metal scraping against the floor. Dax grinded her teeth and covered her ears with her hands. O’Brien winced, too, but nodded for Ezri and the rest of the small Engineering crew that it was safe to enter. It was nice to get out of the flickering lights of the station, which were beginning to turn off and back on again with such frequency that it was practically a strobe effect. The Starfleet personnel turned on their standard tactical flashlights, secured to their wrists with a thick, stretchy material.

Ezri walked over to a dead monitor and began to brush dust off it as the Chief moved to take down a wall panel, revealing the inner workings of a Cardassian designed. He opened his toolkit and set to work restoring power to the area. The storm continued to rock the station every few seconds or so with another powerful jolt.

Ezri set her hand on the monitor for balance and closed her eyes, trying not to feel space sick. It was remarkable the way that the rocking of the station in the storm resembled the sensation of a shuttle crash landing. Or, at least, the facimaly of the memory made it feel that way to Ezri, as the symbiote inside her recalled the final moments of a previous, far more adventurous host. _If it weren’t for Dax,_ Ezri thought, _I wouldn’t even be here. What use is a counselor on an abandoned space station in the middle of a plasma storm?_

The question sounded like the set up for a bad joke, and Ezri resented herself some for thinking that way. It had been awhile since she’d thought of herself and Dax as separate entities inside her. She’d been making progress, reading the texts the Symbiosis Commission continued to send her, having to cancel replicator orders with decreasing frequency, and all around getting to something closer to normal with regard to her behavior as a joined member of her species.

But the thoughts persisted, especially in moments like these. Moments where it was the Tobin or the Torias or the Jadzia in her that had her on an assignment. The engineer, the Starfleet pilot, the Chief Science Officer — _not_ the assistant ship’s counselor.

Before she could ruminate much longer on the subject, light came to the console she was leaning against, and she looked up to see Chief O’Brien smile to himself as he replaced the wall panel. “I’ll say this much for the Cardies,” he called out, “They build their systems to last. Now let’s see if we can get these transporters up and running.” He turned to his crew and started assigning tasks. Dax stepped up beside him and asked how she could help. The Chief perked up a brow, “Think you remember how to reconfigure the plasma flow on an old Cardassian RCL unit?”

“I’m sure somebody in here does,” said Ezri, tapping her temple, as she took a spare tool kit and moved to open a panel by the transporter pad. In moments like these, Ezri had learned to just relax and let muscle memory do the job. If she tried to think too hard about what she was doing or how she knew how to do it, she’d find her concentration broken and the skills difficult to recall. Dax moved with a methodical rythme, almost possessed, recalling a conversation she’d once had with Julian on the replimat when they’d first been stationed on Deep Space Nine. A conversation about how the Cardassians had probably stolen this very technology from the Romulans. ‘Retrofitted’ would have been a stretch. By the looks of the conduit she was working on, it looked more like a frustrated child had forced a puzzle piece that didn’t quite belong into place and no one had bothered to correct them. It was strange — Ezri never thought she would have been able to relate and sympathize with a piece of hardware.

 _This is like AR-558 all over again,_ Ezri mused, dissociating slightly from the task as she let her hands work. She recalled the excitement she’d felt when she’d been able to jury-rig the tricorder to pick up on the Hudinis, but she also remembered the instant sensation of having no clue in the world how exactly she’d done it, or which of the previous lives inside her head she had to thank for it.

And just as it had been then, when a sudden sound of a transporter powering up startled even her, Ezri found herself crawling out from behind the platting to baffled looks of the remaining engineering crew. “You did it! I’ll be damned,” O’Brien said, half jogging over to transporter controls and clicking through the settings to see what she’d done. “How’d you get it up and running so fast?”

When greeted with silence O’Brien looked up, only to read the listless expression on Ezri’s face as answer enough. “Right, well— however you did it, it looks like these systems are going to hold slipshod at best. We better start beaming supplies down now before we lose the connection.”

At that moment, another tremor rocked the station and the lights in the cargo bay began to flicker. The crew stumbled as they all reached for something to grab on to and ride out the wave.

“I thought you said the power system here was independent of the rest of the ship,” Ezri said as the lights around the transporter padd dimmed and flickered.

“I did, but they haven’t been used in so long it’s stressing the system.” He looked up at Dax and his eyes widened a little, the look of a man who’d just gotten an idea, “I know! Maybe we can link the two power sources. They’re each unstable on their own but if we pair them it might be enough to get the transporter stable enough to operate.”

“Cardassian and Federation power systems don’t exactly talk well to each other,” Ezri pointed out, “It won’t be easy to feed both into one unit without overloading it.

O’Brien gave a nod, “I wouldn’t trust it enough to beam any personnel down, but for supplies it should be steady enough so long as somebody is manually controlling the power flow.” He started to call to one of his men when Ezri stopped him, “No, let me do it. I set it up, and I’m the only one small enough to fit back there comfortably, anyway.”

Another wave hit the station — this one with more force than all the previous ones combined. Chief O’Brien clung to the transporter controls and Dax was thrown with such force against the wall that for a moment she saw stars without even being close to an airlock.

“You alright?” O’Brien called.

“I’ll be fine,” Ezri said, clutching her head for a moment before grabbing for the kit that had slid and scattered tools all about the floor. She picked up the one she needed and crouched behind the transporter pad to see the exposed innards behind it.

“We must be close to the eye. Once we’re at the center we’ll only have about 90 seconds of smooth sailing to make contact with Bajor and transport down supplies.”

“Then let’s make them count! Ready when you are, Chief.”

“Alright, I’m connecting the systems now…”

Right at that moment, another wave hit the station, this one accompanied with a deafening sound like thunder in the middle of a lightning storm, and every console in the cargo bay exploded with a golden spray of a dozen firecracklers. Chief O’Brien was thrown from the controls, and Ezri’s whole body slammed into the conduit she’d been working on. The connection point where her instrument was touching the exposed power array lit up in her hands like a roman candle, and a scalding pain forced her to drop it as she kicked back with all her might, just barely getting out of the way as the electrical spray fired off inside the panelling. A chain reaction began as traveled along the wall plates until it reached the transporter pad. The lights above popped and blew out as blue-white lightning lashed out from the system and angry crackling sounds emitted from the ground unit. Blinded by the light, the entire crew covered their eyes as they grabbed onto anything that wasn’t red hot as a second and a third shockwave sent the station reeling.

And then — stillness. Silence.  
The cargo bay went dark.

They’d entered the eye of the storm.

After a few seconds delay, the emergency lights powered up, and a computer voice informed them that emergency power was in use, currently operating at 75% efficiency. Power was being diverted to life support and other key systems.

As Chief O’Brien blinked away the blindness from the electrifying flash of the transporter, he made out the form of a tall figure, standing unassumingly on the pad.

“Chief,” said a voice he hadn’t heard in months. There was a lilt in the tone. A comical confusion like somebody who’d just walked in on a surprise party, “What in the hell’s going on here?”

He stood up and squinted.

On the transporter pad stood Jadzia Dax.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezri, O'Brien, and the small storm crew have to scramble to beam the much-needed supplies down to Bajor, while at the same time trying to make sense of the sudden return of their departed comrade, Jadzia.

Jadzia stepped down off the platform and looked around her. Smoke had left the air thick and opaque, and the smell of burning plasma coils was overwhelming. She put her hand over her nose and mouth and offered the other one to help O’Brien get to his feet.  
  
He just stared at her.  
  
“What is it, Chief?” she asked, still with humor in her voice but notably less. After an insistent flex of her fingers, he did reach a out hand, and when she took it in hers he jolted as if from a static shock. _So she was real._  
  
He stared at her, mouth still hanging slightly open, but if Jadzia noticed she didn’t comment, turning instead to examine the controls of the transporter. “Did my signal get reflected back from the runabout?” she tried calling up the program but the circuits were friend. Muttering to herself, “...That’s odd?”  
  
“What was that, Chief?” Ezri called out from behind the paneling she’d been thrown from. Getting to her feet, she came around into view just in time for Jadzia to turn around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice.  
  
Their eyes locked. Ezri’s expression drew blank, and Jadzia raised a brow, “And... who’s this?” She _knew_ she would’ve been aware of another Trill being onboard.  And a Starfleet officer, no less. Not to mention, last time she’d talked it over with Benjamin, they weren’t due for crew reassignments for another few months, at least. Starfleet couldn’t handle the burden of another convoy during such a vicious war with the Dominion.    
  
They each turned to Miles for an explanation.  
  
He blinked a few more times before shifting his gaze between the two women. There and back, there and back. “Err... well— I’m not really sure. There must’ve been a-... Jadzia, what’s the last thing you rememb—?”  
  
Before she had a chance to respond, the force of a quake rocked the station with such tremendous force that all three of them were lifted off their feet and thrown back into a stack of shipping containers behind them. Around them, O’Brien’s crew all groped for things to grab on to with one hand while clinging to their toolkits in the other.  
  
“The storm!” said Chief O’Brien above the ruckus as smaller jolts began to rock the station. “We must’ve passed through the eye already! This’ll have to wait.”  
  
“Storm?” Jadzia repeated, clearly unaccustomed to being left in the dark, “What storm?”   
  
O’Brien couldn’t hear her as he was already rushing over to help one of his officers who’d been pinned beneath a heavy avalanche of cargo bins. Another wave struck the station. Ezri was thrown into the back of the taller woman and they were knocked down like pins in a bowling alley.  
  
“There’s a plasma storm over Bajor,” Ezri answered, almost shouting to be heard over the chaos. The Starfleet officer in her had taken over; the _Dax_ in her had taken over, and she was snapped out of her silence. “Help me reroute the power from this old generator unit to the transporter. We need to get these supplies down to the planet.”  
  
There was an instant — only an instant — of hesitation, where Jadzia simply stared at Ezri. This stranger, this unfamiliar, junior grade lieutenant who she’d never seen on the station before, who she clearly outranked, barking orders at her. But there was something - _something_ \- she just couldn’t put her finger on. She had a sudden flash of a memory: Odo, his normal bland features replaced with Curzon’s dark hair, Trill spots, and eccentric tastes in fashion.    
  
Jadzia inhaled to steady herself before nodding. “Right. Okay, got it,” she said, “Can you get power to the control pad? I’ll—“  
_“Override the Cardassian security lock,”_ they each said it at once. For just a second, the shorter woman got a look in her eyes like she’d just accidentally revealed a secret. But then it was gone, and Jadzia blinked, wondering if it had even happened at all.  
  
“Right.” And Ezri picked her toolkit back up from where she’d dropped it during the last quake and disappeared behind the paneling. As she passed by, she gave a hard shove to the supplies that had scattered halfway off the transport pad.  
  
The tremors continued. The crew clung to their stations as they worked, busying themselves with their tasks as only Starfleet officers could. And it didn’t take long before the green and pinkish backlights of the Cardassian controls returned below Jadzia’s fingertips. _She’s good,_ Jadzia thought as she began calling up the transport program with only minimal lag time. _She must’ve cross-connected the secondary backups into the main power flow... That’s what I would have done._ An old method, and a somewhat risky one, that she had remembered from her life as Tobin Dax.  
  
“Chief! We’re going to need your transporter expertise to get these supplies down through the interference,” Jadzia called over her shoulder, the normal confidence in her tone returning. She was a woman of action. She could put aside her confusion for the time being to focus on the task at hand. The needs of the planet below outweighed her desire for clarity.  
  
Chief O’Brien jogged over and Jadzia stepped out of his way.  
  
“You got the system back up! Nice going, Dax.”  
  
_“Thanks.”_ came the reply from two voices. Jadzia’s head snapped up and she looked to the younger Trill, still with her head and hands buried in the circuitry. Ezri didn’t need to look up to see the bewildered stare. She could feel it on the back of her neck like a hot flame.  
  
“Got it!” O’Brien said, and the sound of the transporter began, sputtering and stalling out until finally resolving as the supplies vanished from the bay. The Chief checked a few readings before confirming, “They’ve got them! Good — now everybody get to a corner of the room and hold on to something. Let’s ride this thing out before it kills us.”  
  
The tremors were already noticeably declining, coming at longer intervals apart. Deep Space Nine would be out of the woods in ten minutes, maybe less. Bajor would feel the effects of the storm for at least another hour until the anomoly cleared the planet’s orbital path.  
  
As Ezri jogged to the nearest handrail along the corner of the room, she silently hoped that she would be the only one to take that particular spot. But, of course, as a shadow passed over her, and a hand reached out above hers from someone notably taller, she knew it wouldn’t be the case. And truth be told, she wasn’t surprised. She was a Dax, after all. She knew about their insatiable curiosity.  
  
“So, now that we have a moment to get acquainted,” Jadzia said, her lips close to Ezri’s ear as the continual thrashing to the station knocked them around like silver ballbearings in a pinball machine, “Maybe you can tell me: What did I miss?”  
  
“A, uh- a plasma storm showed up on long range sensors a few days ago,” Ezri explained, “We were able to calculate its path and realized it would pass right through Bajor’s orbit. We evacuated the station down to a skeleton crew and we’ve been coordinating the relief effort with the Bajoran Provisional Government on the ground.”  
“That’s not what I meant.”  
“I know.”  
  
Jadzia was quiet for a few beats. The station continued to rattle. Ezri pretended to be too busy with holding on for dear life to look her predecessor, back from the grave, so it seemed, in the eye. But she knew when she was being sized up.  
  
Finally, Jadzia resigned to say, “Alright... so what happens now? Why the cargo bay?”  
“Primary power to the station was going down so we moved our base of operations here.”  
A flash of recognition came across Jadzia’s features. It was strange. Despite never even meeting the woman before, Ezri recognized it. “This bay was converted from Terrok Nor’s armaments bay.”  
  
It wasn’t a question; it was a memory. The same memory Ezri had seen when O’Brien had said it to her. Looking over blueprints and familiarizing herself with a Starfleet Intelligence report on the abandoned station once the Occupation of Bajor had officially ended and she’d received word from an old friend that he’d wanted her under his command for an upcoming assignment. _Damn it! Why aren’t you here, Ben? I need you to help me... Something’s happened here, and I don’t know what to do about it..._  
  
“Yes,” said Ezri, snapping back to reality as another wave shook Deep Space Nine, “It has its own power generator. I managed to link it with the Federation system.”  
  
“That’s no easy task,” Jadzia said. Her eyes, too, were far away, mind busy working its way around a puzzle. “You’re not an Engineer.”  
  
“I guess you could say I had a little help,” Ezri answered. Jadzia’s gaze moved down to glance at the place along the petite woman’s abdomen where a thin skin pouch grows in all mature Trill. Without a medical scanner, there was no way to tell on sight if a Trill was host to a symbionte or not.  
  
Ezri turned her head away. The silent question hung in the air. “...Yeah,” she answered, softly, not looking up. And the tone of her answer took Jadzia by surprise.  
  
Such a slim percent of Trill ever become joined. It had never in Jadzia’s life ever been spoken of as anything less than an esteemed honor. The highest, in fact. And here was this woman, young, probably not a year or more out of the Initiate program, seeming practically ashamed of it.  
  
And while Ezri knew it was irrational, in that moment she felt like a petty thief. One who’d just been caught red handed by her mark. It made her stomach turn. _Maybe I don’t give Quark enough credit._ She silently pleaded with whoever was listening — the Bajoran Prophets, the Ferengi Blessed Executor, maybe a Klingon god or two, even though Worf had told her they’d long ago been slain by their own worshippers... huh, did the Romulans or Vulcans have a god? — that she just not have to answer this question right now. To just let her get through the plasma storm. Give her some time to collect herself. Give her some time to see if this was all really happening.  
  
And, like clockwork, before more questions could come, a final, terrible ripple crashed against the station, and Ezri felt her head slam into the metal bar in front of her. She dropped to her knees and felt the sick taste of blood in her mouth as an awful pain exploded from the bridge of her nose. She felt nauseous. Her hands instinctively fell from their hold on the handrail to cradle her shattered face. She could feel something warm begin to pool against her palms. As she grunted, unable to speak, she felt Jadzia bend down and wrap an arm around her, hugging her against the wall as they rode out the wave, keeping her from being tossed out into the center of the cargo bay to play dodgeball against the supply bins.  
  
_Be careful what you wish for,_ she thought, almost hearing it in Ben’s voice. She recognized the feel of a small, sharp object floating around her mouth amongst the carnage. _Damn it-! ...I sure hope Julian’s a good dentist._

 

* * *

_Julian!_ Oh, god, Ezri hadn’t even had the chance to _think_ about Julian and what variables he added to this already headache-inducing equation. It was all she could do to not outwardly sigh with relief when they received word he was indisposed, swamped with helping triage patients on the planet. And only then did she feel somewhat guilty over the morality behind feeling _relieved_ that there were so many people in need of triage down on Bajor.

Instead, they were left in the care of the Bajoran field medic on standby for Deep Space Nine. He’d never treated a Trill before. In fact, he was mostly onboard to care for the many Bajoran officers. He barely had any experience with offworld species. But he thankfully an easy enough time healing the bones of Ezri’s teeth and nose, and maybe it really was just her imagination that her brow now seemed ever so slightly more _ridged_.

Jadzia, however, had been a different story. The medic had to make do with calling up station records of her old health inspections and simply comparing her readings from then to now. From what he could figure, she seemed to be either Jadzia, or a practically perfect facsimile of her. And one in perfect health, for that matter, save some slightly elevated isoboramine levels, which, according to Dax, was well within reason for having just been through a stressful situation.

“So, Chief, are you finally going to tell me what’s going on here?” Jadzia asked, practically pushing the medic away from her. Besides Julian, Jadzia had never been too fond of doctors.

From the other room, Ezri could hear the conversation begin. She could hear Miles telling Jadzia that she’d better sit down, asking her what the last thing she remembered was, telling her this was about to be a long story… Ezri’s head was spinning, and it was only partially due to the cranial trauma. And she was beginning to feel space sick.

“What does this all mean?” she asked herself, aloud. She knew this wasn’t a replica of Jadzia. Or a changeling. She knew it even before O’Brien had finished asking tedious questions about the minutiae of life aboard Deep Space Nine. Ezri suspected he had known, too, but it was right to have made certain. The Federation had been increasingly wary about the peace with the Dominion being a lasting one. They had to be certain this wasn’t some new bag of tricks.

Ezri looked up in time to see her counterpart in the other room doing the same. Their eyes met for only a nanosecond before Ezri turned sharply to look away. In that brief instant she saw Jadzia’s eyes, wide as Dabo wheels, staring at her, watching her as she listen to the Chief. The face was that of a woman being told she’d died several months ago, and that the young, unassuming woman across the way was her reincarnation. Ezri had always wondered how hosts must feel coming back to life, even if just partially and temporarily, during the Zhian'tara rite of closure. She thought of that, now. But according to the texts she’d been sent from the Trill homeworld, even that would be nothing close to what Jadzia must’ve been going through just then. The Zhian'tara life was a murky, distant, half-life. Occupying a vessel that wasn’t yours, feeling your essence pulled from the current host into your temporary one, hearing the soothing voice of the Guardian inform you that the ritual was taking place, it all prepared the previous hosts to be at peace with their deaths and be ready to help guide the next in line.

Well, Ezri certainly knew all about unpreparedness. What she had experienced waking up from the operation aboard the Destiny --- the swarm of emotions and memories and thoughts, many of which conflicting with her old worldviews --- had been overwhelming. Downright terrifying. That was the emotion she saw on Jadzia’s face just then when their eyes had met. Terror. A sinking feeling that something earth-shattering had just happened, something that would change your life forever, and that there was absolutely nothing you could do to change it.

“Do you need me here any longer?” Ezri asked rather suddenly, causing the medic at his workstation nearby to jump a little.

“I… wouldn’t recommend it, miss.”  
“But do you _need_ me?”  
“Well, no, I suppose n--”  
“And will I _die_ if I go now without further treatment.”  
“I - well, I--”

Alright, well, _poor choice_ of words aside, Ezri took that to mean she was free to leave and she jumped down off the biobed. She made for the exit as quickly as possible without outright running. As the doors slid shut behind her, she thought perhaps she heard Chief O’Brien call out her name from behind. She didn’t stop to check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those checking this story out. I welcome any feedback. Just please, be respectful. I do have a general idea of where the plot is heading. As I write this I'm trying to look at transcripts of the episode's I'm drawing information from, and there are even some easter eggs to be found with borrowed dialogue. The first of these can be found in this chapter, the second I have planned should fall in either the next chapter or the one after. Comments would be greatly appreciated. I know I tend to have very advanced and long winded sentence structure. Hopefully no one is getting lost. Also please remember, this is strictly based on show-canon. I have not read any of the Ezri books, and though I've read excerpts of "The Lives of Dax" I don't really consider it to be canon. The thoughts and feelings represented in this piece come from my own musings and headcanon. More of that will become apparent in upcoming developments. Again: thanks so much for tuning in!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As reality begins to sink in for those aboard the space station over what took place in the Cargo Bay, Ezri recalls the day on the Destiny that changed her life, and ruminates on what this new set of circumstances means for her and the sacrifices she's made. Meanwhile, Chief O'Brien and Jadzia brain storm on what exactly could have caused the transporter malfunction.
> 
> *Note: You can read Ezri's flashback section as a stand-alone piece for her backstory of getting the symbionte. (Does not comply with any Star Trek novels.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is finally starting to get going! Thanks everybody for hanging in there with me. Hope you're enjoying!

Ezri paced the small span of her quarters, resisting the urge to stand on her head. Her teeth hurt. Her nose hurt. Her head hurt. She was twisting her hands around in each other so tightly they were beginning to chafe.

 _Jadzia!_  Jadzia  _alive!_ Beamed into the  _cargo bay_ of all places. And of all  _times_. What did this mean? How did this happen? Was it temporary? Would something happen to undo it? What to make of it all! There was just far too much to think about. Ezri flopped down onto her small loveseat and hung her head.  
  
Her thoughts returned to the day the Destiny had picked up the dying symbiote from Deep Space Nine. Ezri could recall the confusion she had felt when she was called to the ship's sickbay. At first, seeing the out-of-place bronze transport pod in sickbay, she hadn't even realized it was housing the symbionte. That fact that only dawned on her when she got closer and could see through the fogged up glass the murky, thick, grey waters, and the small brown being inside. She'd never been this close to one outside of a host.  
  
"It's dying," the doctor told her.  
  
"It is?" She ask, making a face and leaning in closer to see the small, snakelike thing. She wouldn't have known the difference between a sick or healthy one even if someone had held a phaser to her head. "I thought the doctors on Deep Space Nine said it was stable."  
  
"It was, at the time. But it's life signs are dwindling. We think it must be the synthesized mixture it's lying in. We used a replicator pattern on file, but it looks like the synthesized agents aren't being properly absorbed. These things happen sometime..."  
  
Ezri straightened up and with knit brow she shrugged her shoulders, feeling useless, "I'm sorry, I don't know how I could be of help. I never learned much about these... things." While it was an honor among Trill culture to be joined, having been raised off-world, her family never thought much about anyone going into the program, and thus no one ever looked into any specifics about the old and honored creatures. And when Ezri left home, her only thought was to get into an organization that would make her mother at least a little bit proud, and also make it impossible for her to expect Ezri to drop anything and run back home should the need arise. Excuses like ' _Sorry, Mom, we're along the border of the neutral-zone for the next two weeks. No shuttles can be sent until the mission is over. Love, Ezri,'_ had appealed to her.  
  
But there were still a number of Trill on New Sydney. Ezri had been raised with the expected reverence for the simple creatures, and the few exceptional members of society who had the honor to host them. Truth be told, it was always criticisms from her mother that kept her from ever even considering the Joining, herself. While never directly stated, her mother had made it clear Ezri's whole life that her talents were far too mundane to award her a place in such a program. She could hear her mother now. " _Do you really think a girl from a simple family of miners wouldn't be laughed right off the application site?"_  
  
But the doctor hadn't seemed discouraged by Ezri's remarks. "No, no, that's alright," he'd told her, "We're actually pretty certain what could be done to save Dax."  
  
"You are?" Ezri was relieved. A symbionte with three hundred years or so of experience would be a terrible loss. Such an ancient, noble creature. So many memories and so much wisdom. To Trills, the lives of the symbiontes were almost a religion. They weren't gods, persay, but they were revered the same way Bajorans revered a Kia or an Orb from their beloved Prophets.      
  
"We saw in the Trill database that often symbiontes who are sick recover once moved into their new hosts."  
  
"Yes, the symbionte connects to the host's circulatory system and its its own organs become somewhat dormant as it binds itself permanently to the host." It was why removing the symbionte after integration was complete would kill the host in a matter of hours. The symbionte's systems could take over again for itself, but the host's body would have become dependent on the symbionte's neural feedback and additional circulatory pathways. Trill children learned all about it in grade school. There were even nursery rhymes about it.  
  
"Based on my latest scans," said the doctor, "even at Maximum Warp, the chances of getting to Trill in time are just... too slim..."  
  
"Oh, no..." Ezri muttered, eyebrows knitting with concern. She put her hands on the side of the container and leaned in. It was so hard to tell what did or didn't look healthy for the thing. But, watching carefully, Ezri could see the way it trembled in its pool. Just enough to indicate its pain and deteriorating condition.  
  
"The only thing that might stabilize it would be..." the doctor continued, stepping up behind Ezri and passing his tricorder over the chamber, "to join it to a host. And quickly."  
"So Trill is sending an Initiate?"  
The doctor shook his head, "There's not enough time... Ezri, I... we're not certain how to ask you this..."  
  
She turned her head to give the doctor a puzzled look, but then it struck her what was being implied. She was the only Trill on the Destiny.  
  
She could recall how she'd shot up and stepped back several paces from the chamber, as if suddenly joining could occur just by proximity.  
  
"Me?! But no, I... I couldn't. I mean, I haven't been vetted. I might not even qualify biologically for joining. And I- I-..."  
"There are records from the Enterprise of the human first officer being host to a symbionte for several hours."  
"So- so put it in a human!"  
  
The doctor offered her a soft chuckle. It was grim and without much humor. He shook his head. "The symbionte in that case was much stronger. And their joining taxed both host's and symbionte's systems. But... if it was in a Trill body, even one not qualified for long-term, it could have a chance to rest. Regain its strength."  
  
Ezri was silent. Her eyes felt about ready to burst right out of her skull, and she felt herself beginning to grow pale. The doctor stepped up and put a hand on each of her shoulders. "Trills have a few hours after being joined before the symbionte becomes necessary to the host's survival, correct? Ezri, that's all we'd need. I'll put you under for the operation and keep you asleep until we arrive on Trill and can remove it. In theory, well, you'll wake up and it will be as if Dax was never even there."

She couldn't really process what he was telling her. Her eyes were on the makeshift travel chamber. She felt a little nauseous. And Ezri never got nauseous. Even in Starfleet's infamous Class Two Shuttles, notorious for causing claustrophobia among the cadets, she had always surpassed her peers at handling the effects of space travel. She was somewhat aware that the doctor was guiding her to a biobed to sit down on, saying something about her looking white as a ghost.  _I feel like one,_ Ezri thought as she sat down.

The doctor put a hand on Ezri's chin and lifted it up so she would focus for a moment and look him in the eye. "Ensign Tigan," he told her, "We cannot force you to do this. It's your decision."  
"But if I don't..."  
"Dax will die, yes."  
  
She was silent. The doctor took a deep breath and patted her on the shoulder. "I'll give you a few minutes to think about it. But if we're going to do this and be successful, we'll have to start soon." He walked out of the room to his office, giving her some time alone to make her choice.

She had tried to clear her head. Tried to think rationally. But her mind was blank, but for the image of the small creature, wriggling around in the shallow pool. They didn't look so noble like that, did they? They were even kind of ugly.  _Worms_ , like non-Trill tended to call them. A disrespectful term for such amazing creatures. What other species in the Federation lived as long? Some Vulcans, perhaps, but even then a Vulcan's wisdom was dim in comparison to that of a symbiont's, who would collect entire lifetimes as different entities. Different people. And those people lived on so long as it did. Ezri knew if she let this one die because of her hesitance, she would be essentially killing  _eight people_. It was her duty as a Trill to protect a symbionte's life, whatever the cost. It's what they'd always been taught. And she was training to be a counselor, wasn't she? Could she live with the guilt of not helping this person - this  _collection_  of people - when it needed her?

But then, there was the nagging thought:  _What if we don't reach Trill in time? What if the doctors can't remove it?_  Then, she would be gone. At least the she that she was now. Her personality would be a blend of hers and a stranger's.  _Many_ strangers. Her entire life until now would become just a short twenty years or so out of over three hundred! They called it "joining," but to Ezri seemed more like  _swallowing_. Being swallowed whole. Would her personality be able to persist? Or would who she was just vanish, unable to compete with the stronger, older, bolder lives? In a sense, it was her life on the line. Ezri Tigan would be gone. Ezri Dax would be what was left.

But, then again, it wasn't a sure thing. The doctor felt reasonably confident they'd make it to Trill on time. And Ezri was a Starfleet officer, wasn't she? Putting her life on the line to save others was part of the job description. And wouldn't she rush in to save the lives of eight people even at the risk of her own? Say a rescue mission from an attack by a Dominion ship? She knew she would. So why was this different? Was it different at all?

 _Yes_ , she eventually found a small, but resolute voice in the back of her mind tell her,  _This is different_.  _Because this is a symbionte. And what kind of Trill would you be to let one die when you could save it…?_

  
Ezri found herself returning from her ruminations having at some point pulled a couch cushion off the loveseat and onto the floor. Her quarters were upside down, now. Wait. No, they weren't. She was just standing on her damn head again.

 _Damn it!_ she thought as she shifted her weight and threw down her legs, rolling to sit on the floor with her legs crossed. She put her head in her hands and felt her cheeks were wet. She'd been crying.

Crying, because what had just happened now in the cargo bay — whatever fluke, freak accident it was — Jadzia was now alive again.  _Dax_  was now alive again. And in a twisted way, that meant that Ezri Tigan's sacrifice had been for nothing. She was gone, now, and _nothing_  - not transporter malfunctions or freak plasma storms or wormhole aliens - was bringing her back. All the pain she'd went through,the torment over making the decision to save the Dax symbionte, the terror of waking up and realizing they'd been too late to remove it in time, the months confusion and lose, the overwhelming sea of emotions and memories and knowledge that were not hers, fighting bizarre influences, harboring secrets about the Symbiosis Commission, having a maniac  _murderer_  trapped with her inside her skull, the extended estrangement from her family she'd suffered through, the fights with her mother, losing all of her friends aboard the Destiny, struggling to even do her job as a counselor to Garak because countless lifetimes of memories undermined her position and her ability to think clearly—

 _"I died… for nothing."_  she whispered. Alone in her room, aboard a Cardassian station she'd only moved to because someone  _else's_  friend had been in command. And now, even Benjamin had left her. And the connections she'd made - Kira, Julian, Jake, Quark - what were any of them to her if not for Jadzia? When Jadzia had died and Dax had been assimilated into Ezri's mind, in a way, Ezri  _was_  Jadzia. Not entirely, but at least one-ninth. But now… would her friends still like Ezri as she was? Or would it be a disservice to the newly revived Jadzia Dax? Had she always been nothing more than a cheap replacement? The implications of it all could keep her awake for days just trying to sort them all out.

 _Maybe I should leave the station_ , she thought, but suddenly found herself angry beyond compare at her own suggestion. She grit her teeth.  _No! I'm not going to let Dax chase me away from two homes. First the Destiny, now this?_

It wasn't fair.  
_Life isn't,_  said something - maybe someone - inside her.  
"Well..." Ezri breathed, "it sure isn't. And  _nine_ are nine-times less..."

She fell backwards onto the floor, taking the couch cushion and throwing it over her face. She gave a half hearted scream into the pillow.

 

* * *

  
  
"I was in the cargo bay. I'd been running some scans and using the old generator to help me run a few complicated programs at once without taxing the station's main systems. One of our scans came back indicating a strange fluctuation in the wormhole's entrance. I knew Ensign Parker and Lieutenant Davis were about to go out in a runabout to upgrade the scanners on the subspace buoys we'd launched, so I powered up the transporter and was planning to beam over to join them and check the readings for myself while we were inside the wormhole."  
  
"And then?"  
  
" _'And then?'_ " Jadzia laughed and shook her head, "And then _nothing_ , Miles. I got on the pad, the transport started, and next thing I knew I was back in the cargo bay with you looking at me like I had a Klingon Targ balanced on top of my head."  
  
Chief O'Brien laughed at the mental image. He shook his head. "You must've beamed over. Somehow your pattern got... copied? I guess no one else has used that transporter since. It wasn't a very good idea of you to do it in the first place." Jadzia rolled her eyes and he conceded the point. He was just thinking out loud, now. "When that surge hit the station from the storm, we'd been working to get the transporter up and running. Your latent pattern was still the last in the buffers. The signal must've been enhanced..." he shook his head as he attempted to do the math, "-oh, I'd say about four- _thousand_ percent or so. That's the only way the pattern degradation would've been minimal enough to rematerialized. We were trying to compensate for the interference to get the supplies down to Bajor. I'd been trying to initiate a second containment field around the supplies. But instead of getting the supplies to the surface—"  
  
"—It managed to stabilize my pattern and the energy surge through the system reinitialized it," Jadzia finished off the sentence, nodding.  
  
Chief O'Brien nodded his head slowly. "It was a perfect storm. Literally."  
  
Jadzia felt herself sigh. Her eyes moved away from the Chief.  
  
"You feel alright?" He asked her.  
"Yeah. Yeah it's just... a lot to process."  
  
The strange concept to grasp for Jadzia was that it wasn't the transport which had killed her. There were whole months she'd lived after that. Memories she couldn't recall, events that she'd played a part in that this rematerialized pattern had no involvement in.  But... it was still her. Wasn't it? She was Jadzia Dax. And she was alive. She didn't feel like some kind of empty-shelled carbon copy. She remembered everything, and most of all she still had the Dax symbionte inside her.

Which led to the hardest detail to swallow: When she had died, and Dax had been saved, it had been put into somebody else. A new host. A new Dax.

"I'd like to meet her," Jadzia said. O'Brien blinked, not following her train of thought. Jadzia let out a breath, "The girl, from the cargo bay, Dax."

"Oh, Ezri?"

"Ezri…" she repeated the name to herself, thinking it over, trying to figure out how it sat with her. Ezri Dax. Who was she? What was she like? "How did the Symbiosis Commission select her?"

"That's, uh, that's kind of a long story."

Dax blew air out her cheeks, frustrated. "I'm beginning to think that's all you can say anymore."

He laughed, but it did little to fight the hesitance in his eyes. "Well, you see… it's just something that you should probably hear from somebody who understands the Trill more. I hardly understand it, myself. I wouldn't want to give you false information."

"Then I'll talk to her."

O'Brien still looked unsure.

"Alright. How about Benjamin?"

That time, Chief O'Brien's eyes got wide and then distant. Then sad.

"Oh, no…" Jadzia said, visibly shrinking. _He's dead?_

"It's, it's not what you think," O'Brien said, "It's just, well, it's—"

Jadzia held up and hand to stop him and with the other pinched the bridge of her nose. She finished the sentence for him: "—It's a _long story_."

 

* * *

 

There was a doorbell chirp to Ezri's quarters. She shot up and the pillow over her head fell off. For a beat, she paused. _Who was at the door?_  
  
Then the tone came again.  
  
"Coming, coming!" Ezri jumped to her feet and in a few strides reached the door panel, touching it to her fingertips and releasing the lock. The doors slid open.  
  
"Oh, thank god it's you," Ezri said, visibly relaxing and making way for Chief O'Brien to step in. For a moment, she was expecting to see Jadzia at her door. Demanding attention and answers.  
  
"You ran out of sickbay in a hurry. I wanted to make sure you were alright."  
  
She suddenly felt bad for abandoning him, leaving him to answer the no doubt extensive questions Jadzia would have had.  
  
"Yeah," she said, tapping the control pad again and closing the door before leaning against the wall, "Sorry about that."  
  
"You feeling okay?"  
"As well as can be expected."  
"And how well is that?"  
  
She shot him a look, "Who's the therapist here?"  
"You are. I'm just a friend, checking in on another friend."  
  
She sighed and her gaze fell away. She looked at her feet. _A friend._  
  
"At least you still consider me a friend..." she muttered.  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
She let the air out of her cheeks in a slow puff and looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head and talking with her hands as she began to pace the small room, "Oh... I don't know. Maybe just that-... what with Jadzia back..."  
  
"Ezri, you aren't Jadzia. When I made friends with you, it was, well, with _you._ Not her. Look, I've never been very good at understanding all the nuances of Trill joining, but I-"  
  
"This isn't your normal Trill joining, though. It never _was_. And now ..." She just shrugged, unable to finish her own thought. She stopped pacing and looked out the window. She looked down at the planet below. A distant red tint still lingered as the plasma storm passed beyond them, heading out further into the system. In a matter of hours it wouldn't be visible without the help of long range sensors. It would dissipate and vanish, having come and went without a single trace beyond the damage it had left in its wake.  
  
"Well," the Chief said as he stepped up behind Ezri and looked out with her. She could see his reflection in the thick glass. "As far as I'm concerned, this is a good thing. Two people I care about are here. A new one, and an old one."  
  
"It's not that simple, Chief."  
"Why shouldn't it be?"  
  
She didn't have an answer. It just wasn't. And her silence only served to strengthen the disconnected feelings in the room. The sense of not belonging.  
  
He sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. Ezri shrugged it off and continued to pace the room.  
  
"Did you figure out how it happened?"  
"We've got a working theory... Once, when I was stationed on the Enterprise, we came across a duplicate of our Commander who'd been stranded on a planet's surface for several years after a containment beam replicated his pattern."  
"I remember reading about that... He came to the station once, didn't he? The duplicate."  
  
Miles nodded. "Working for the Maquis. Tried to steal the Defiant."  
"Well, let's hope Jadzia doesn't get any ideas."  
  
O'Brien laughed. "And then there was the time we found a captain who'd been trapped inside a Dyson Sphere. He'd managed to lock his transporter pattern in a permanent recycling state for about eighty years."  
  
"You never had a dull moment on that ship, did you?"  
  
Again, he laughed. "My point is just... these kind of things aren't unprecedented. They're rare, but there are other people who've dealt with them and managed to carry on. Maybe you could talk to one of them."  
  
"You think the Maquis is recruiting?"  
"Ezri..."  
"I know, I know," she shook her head, bringing her hands up to touch her temples and rub them in tiny circles. Her headache was getting worse.  
  
"She wants to talk with you."  
" Oh, no! No, Miles, I can't do that. You know I can't. Not yet."  
"I know. I told her to give it time. And meanwhile I'm setting her up in some guest quarters. She said she wanted to make a few calls. To her family, to..."  
"--Worf."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"... Do you think he'll come back from Quo'noS?"  
"Knowing Worf?"  
"Probably?"  
"Definitely."  
  
Ezri tried to steady herself with a few deep breaths. "And when are Dr. Bashir and Colonel Kira getting back from Bajor?"  
  
"Things are finally settling down from the storm. They'll be taking the first transport up in the morning. Why don't you try to get some sleep? It'll help you feel better."  
  
"Thanks, Chief. You know, maybe you should be the station's counselor."  
  
He smiled at her, but it didn't touch his eyes. He was a smart man. A smart, kind man. And he knew that talking about a replacement counselor in that moment could only mean Ezri had been thinking of leaving Deep Space Nine. He lingered for a beat and a half, and then he turned to the door and let himself out. They slid shut behind him, and Ezri was left alone again with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (UPDATED: February 11th 2018)  
> Technobabble work cited:  
> Here's where the jargon about the transporter comes from...
> 
> \- TNG "Second Chances" s06e24 : References to a "massive energy surge in the distortion field around the planet" during a beam out procedure, and the transporter chief trying to compensate for it by "initiating a second containment beam"  
> \- TNG "Relics" s06e04 : Discussing the jurry-rigged transporter, they said "locking it into a diagnostic cycle [made it so] the pattern wouldn't degrade, and then cross-connecting it phase inducers [provided] a regenerative power source" so that a pattern could stay "in the buffer... completely intact" and there was a "less than point zero zero three percent signal degradation."
> 
> With all this being said, I feel pretty confidence that the "science" is sound given these standards of the Star Trek universe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things become even more complicated when Dr. Julian Bashir and Colonel Kira Nerys make it back to the station. Meanwhile, Jadzia begins to devise a plan that she believes, with Ezri's help, could get them both the answers they need to start feeling whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be worth mentioning (if I haven't already) that I'm a psychology major a little over halfway through my undergrad. I feel as though the writers of DS9 both underused and misrepresented Ezri's psychology background. That does show in my interpretation of her.

Jadzia sat at the computer station in the Spartan guest quarters. She’d been recording and erasing messages to various connections for the better part of the night and into the early hours of the morning. Nothing was coming out right. Each time she finished a draft, she told the computer to erase it and restart the file. And after she’d get too frustrated trying to write to one friend, she’d give up and move to another. And another. And another.  
  
She pushed back away from the desk and let out a frustrated huff. _How do you tell somebody that you’d just come back from the dead? A death you don’t even remember?_  
  
She realized why it was so frustrating. Usually, you use a letter to tie up loose ends, but in her case, she didn’t even know what those loose ends were .  
  
“Computer, access all station logs regarding deaths on DS9.”  
“There are five hundred and seventy three files relating to accounts of crew, merchant, and visitor deaths aboard Deep Space Nine,” came the computer’s usual monotone reply.  
“Filter results to references to Chief Science Officer, Jadzia Dax.”  
  
The computer chirped it’s confirmation. Sixteen files remained on screen.  
“Computer, begin playback...”  


* * *

  
  
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” O’Brien said as he walked along the corridor, matching his stride to Ezri’s.  
“It’s the first thing I’m sure of all day,” Ezri answered. “If they’re going to hear it, they should hear it from me.”  
“You still don’t think it’s a good idea to invite Jadzia to meet us at the airlock?”  
“No,” Ezri answered, perhaps a little too fast, “... No.”  
  
O’Brien was silent.  
  
“I know what you’re thinking, Chief, but trust me, this is the rational choice. They need to be eased into this slowly. There’s no reason to give them the shock this gave us yesterday.”  
  
The transport was already unloading by the time the pair had turned the corner. After a few seconds Dr. Bashir and the Colonel each stepped through the airlock. They seemed locked in a solemn conversation. Maybe discussing Bajor’s next steps in recovering from the plasma storm. When their gazes moved out across the promenade, Ezri and Miles smiled and waved, catching the eyes of their comrades. They reciprocated and the four started towards each other.  
  
But then -- something stopped Nerys and Julian dead in their tracks. Their smiles quickly fled from their faces, replaced with blank stares. The hand Bashir had on his shoulder bag went slack. His regulation Starfleet pack nearly knocked over a passing Bajoran, who gave him an angry glare as they swerved to avoid him, muttering a few unsavory terms under their breath as they did.  
  
O’Brien turned around to see what had caught their sights. But Ezri didn’t have to turn. She could tell from the looks on their faces: at the end of the hallway, Jadzia stood and watched her friends step back onto the station.  
  
_I never was very good at doing what was appropriate._  


* * *

  
  
“I- I don’t understand,” Bashir was saying. It seemed as though he hadn’t blinked since exiting the transport shuttle. Ezri and O’Brien had managed to corral them all - Nerys, Julian, Jadzia - into the Commander’s office off of Ops. At least there they could have some privacy without stopping traffic.  
  
“How is this possible?” Kira was saying.  
“It was a fluke. One-in-a-million transporter failure.”  
“ _‘Failure’_ ?” Julian exclaimed, “I wouldn’t call raising the _dead_ a ‘failure,’ Miles. More like a small _miracle_ .”  
  
Jadzia was saying, “It’s good to see you both. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” She embraced them. Kira jumped slightly, as if surprised to have been met with solid mass, and was silent.  
“I should say not! Back from _Stovokor_ must be tiring, even for you.”  
“Stovokor?” Jadzia asked.  
“Yes, of course. Worf made sure of that. Well, Worf, Martok, Quark, Miles, and I.”  
“ _Quark?_ ”  
“Indeed! He-”  
“—Julian.”  
  
It was Kira’s sudden, soft but demanding tone that paused the energized conversation. Julian shot her a confused look, seeming almost insulted. But Kira’s eyes shifted to the corner of the office and Julian’s gaze followed.  
  
Ezri was standing off towards the shadows. She’d hardly spoken - or been spoken to - since they’d walked in.  
  
“Ah...” Julian said, instantly deflating. “Ezri, I... well, surely you know I didn’t mean any-”  
“No,” Ezri was already cutting him off, “No, no, of course not. You all need some time to, you know, get _reacquainted_. I’ll just go. Let you all catch up.”

She exited the room and quickly headed for the lift. But before she could get the command to initiate, Julian was already by her side. She could image the way Kira and O’Brien had probably all but chased him from the room to run her down.  
  
“Ezri, wait, please...”  
“It’s fine, Julian, really.”  
“It’s just that I-”  
“I know.”  
“It isn’t that I don’t- that is to say, I-”  
“I know. I do, really.” Dax was biting her tongue and not looking him in the eye, fighting away irrational tears, and it was showing. Her face was growing flushed. Julian moved to embrace her, but she deflected, moving into the corner of the lift.

“You just got a dear friend back. Regardless of who I am to you, or to _this_ ,” she motioned vaguely between herself and the doors to the office. No doubt Kira and O’Brien were peering through the glass to observe if Bashir’s attempts to quell her were going successfully. But if they were, Ezri couldn’t see them now. “You loved- you _love_ her.”

“I - well, I-”

“You do...” she took a few deep breaths and finally found her strength. “Even _if_ you love me. And Julian, _she_ loves _you_ . I _know_ that.”  
  
His eyes grew softer. Dax offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “Go be together,” she said, “Really, I’ll be alright. This is all just going to take time.”  
“But I want to be there for you, Ezri.”  
“And you will be,” she said. “But later. After.”  
“...Alright.”  
“Alright.”  
  
They stared at each other for a few seconds until, finally, Julian backed out of the lift and it lowered. He watched her descend into the habitat ring, and she nodded, smiling softly, before disappearing from view. Slowly, the doctor turned back towards Ops and into the side office. 

 

* * *

  
  
“She’s so young,” Jadzia was saying as the three of them watched Ezri and Julian talk.

“Not anymore, she isn’t,” Kira replied.  
  
It was true. _Technically,_ Ezri was older than Jadzia, now, when accounting for the memories she’d inherited that Jadzia herself could not recall. But Jadzia just gave Kira a look. “You know what I meant... It must be hard for her.”  
“She’s stronger than she looks,” O’Brien told her. And Kira nodded in agreement.  
_She’d have to be,_ Jadzia thought.  
  
They watched as Julian had moved in to hold her and Ezri had shied away. Both Kira and Jadzia drew breath in through their teeth. _Not a good sign._  
  
“In a strange way...” Jadzia said, “I feel responsible for her. For what happened to her.”

“You can’t blame yourself for dying.”  
  
Jadzia had no way of confirming that statement. She knew the official report. How Dukat had somehow gotten aboard Deep Space Nine while Benjamin was on the front lines, taking everyone by surprise and killing Jadzia in his efforts to wound the Bajoran Prophets, as well as Benjamin and the Federation along with them. But the _details_ , the first hand account that could possibly absolve her of her guilt, were gone. Lost along with whatever other parts of Jadzia hadn’t rematerialized through some stale, forgotten transporter pattern.  
  
“I need to talk to Benjamin,” she said, suddenly.

Kira and the Chief each shot her a funny look. They looked to each other, then back at Dax.

“I don’t see how you could,” replied the Chief. “He’s gone. I mean, he’s not here in this timeline anymore, is he? When he sent Kasidy her vision, she told us he’d said he wasn’t in a linear existence at all. Who know _when_ he might be.”  
“I don’t need to know _when_ he is, so long as I know _where_ he is,” Jadzia answered, cryptically.  
“What?” Julian asked as he stepped back into the room, only catching the tail end of the comment. “What did I miss?”  
“The wormhole,” Kira said, softly, and Jadzia nodded.  
“This soon after a plasma storm?” O’Brien seemed utterly beside himself, “That’s _suicide!_ ”  
“What is?” the doctor asked, “I don’t understand.”  
“I’ll tell you what’s to understand! Jadzia’s about to risk her life right after getting it back!” Miles said in a huff. “We have no idea how the energy surges might have affected the wormhole’s stability. It might not even be transversable anymore.”  
But Kira and Jadzia were looking at each other with a shared understanding and calm. Nyres nodded, she understood what Dax was planning.  
“You can’t possibly be thinking about going into the wormhole alone, are you?” Bashir asked.  
“I’m not going alone,” Jadzia said. She looked back towards Ops and a now empty lift, “She’s coming with me.”

“But… You could both be killed,” the doctor said, no surprise taking Miles side.

Jadzia and Nerys shared a look.

“Not if Benjamin has anything to do with it.”

 

* * *

 

\---Julian and Miles were right on Jadzia’s heels the whole way through the habitat ring down to crew quarters. When she’d asked for the room assignment they’d each just stared at her. Jadzia had been forced to call up the computer program to access Starfleet personnel room assignments. In a matter of moments, she found “Dax, Ezri” on the roster and headed out of Ops.

“Jadzia, please, this really isn’t a good idea.”  
“I don’t want to hear it, Julian.”  
“Are you sure you don’t want to get some rest first? In fact, I’d actually like to see you in sickbay to run some tests.”  
“I’ve already been examined by the Bajoran field medic. I’m in perfect health.”  
“Well that’s only what we know from the basic scans, I’m more versed on Trill physiology and biochemistry.”  
“I already told you, I feel fine.”  
“Yes but just--”  
“Enough.”

She stopped short and turned on her heels, both the men spun their wheels to stop in time without crashing into her. Julian did slam into Miles and the Chief gave him a hard glare. Julian shrugged his apology, sheepishly.

“Both of you, knock it off.” Jadzia said, her voice stern as if she was disciplining children. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Jadzia…” Miles said, holding up his hands to her, “Listen, Ezri asked me to make sure we gave her some time before… before having you speak with her. You can’t imagine what she’s going through.”  
“I _imagine_ it’s pretty similar to what I’m going through.”  
“Right, sort of. But…” he stopped himself. He couldn’t quite find the words. He worried his lip between his teeth for a moment as Jadzia waited on, impatiently.

“Look, you said you felt responsible for her, right?” O’Brien finally said, “Well then trust me. She needs some space.”

Jadzia stopped and thought about it, her feet still itching to continue down the corridor to Ezri’s room. But she did at least _try_ to listen to what Chief O’Brien was telling her. At least he was giving it to her straight. For as much as she adored them both, Julian did have a knack for getting under anyone’s skin from time to time. And now was certainly one of those times. Even the Chief, who it was hard to say a bad word about even on the worst of days, was beginning to grate on her last nerves.

She sighed.

“I just… I feel so _frustrated,”_ she finally admitted, gritting her teeth and moving to place her hands against the walls of the corridor, turning her hands to fists and pressing her forehead against the wall panel. “I need answers. I can’t live like this.”

“We know. We’re not asking you to. Just to give it a little more time,” Julian said. “To process.”  
“For Ezri’s sake,” O’Brien answered.

Jadzia took another couple of deep breaths. She gave a sidelong glance to the two of them and then nodded.

“Fine.”

“Good... Now, could you _please_ come down with me to sickbay?” Julian asked, “I promise I won’t keep you long.” Dax glared at him. “Alright, well, no longer than need be.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kira had asked Ezri if she wanted to go get a drink at Quark’s, who was now back aboard the station along with most of the other merchants. Deep Space Nine was more than just a space station, it was their home, and they didn’t want to be away from it any longer than they had to be.

“No. Thank you, but I don’t really feel in the mood for a drink.”  
“We could go to the Springball courts. Or a holosuit. Spend some time at Vic’s.”  
“No, really, I think I need to be alone for awhile.”  
“You sure?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Alright… You call my quarters if you change your mind.”  
“I will, thanks Nerys.”

Kira put a hand on Dax’s shoulder, she ran it up and down a few times, looking at her friend, before taking a few steps towards the door. “I’ll stop by later.”

“You don’t have to.”  
“I know.”

Ezri had been trying to clear her head. She was rereading some journal articles from her psychology file, but found herself suffering from a deep and unrelenting restlessness. Nothing could get her attention away from the events of the past few days. From the plasma storm, to the transporter malfunction, to the uncomfortable conversation with Julian outside of Ops, her thoughts couldn’t move an inch without bumping into a memory from the past 24 hours or so. And then, when she’d allow them to linger, the thoughts drifted back even further. Dukat in the monastery. Talking with Worf about having a baby. A late night game of Tongo with Quark. Drinking bloodwine with Martok.

Was it even right for her to have these memories, anymore? She felt like she was spying on someone else’s life. It was one thing when Jadzia had been dead. It was part of Trill tradition that the memories of previous hosts live on in the next. In fact, many of the texts she’d received from the Symbiosis Commission recommended actively attempting to _recall_ these memories. And when she’d spoke with the Trill doctors through subspace message, they had told her that attempting to suppress the recollections might have even been the root of some of her problems. _Thoughts demand attention,_ she’d been told. It was similar to the study of ‘mindfulness’ that she’d learned about in her psychology classes back on Earth. A human therapy technique taught in the mid-21st Century. Fighting to submerge thoughts was like trying to drown a person. The more you held them below the water, the more violently they’d fight to rise to the surface. It was best to let them come and pass through the conscious mind peacefully, rather than fighting them away.

But things were different now that Jadzia was back. Was there even a precedent for this on Trill? She made a mental note to write to the Commission in the morning. They’d no doubt become sick of seeing her name in their inboxes, but that thought didn’t bother her now. She needed answers and she didn’t know where else to turn.

She kept looking out of her window towards the stars. When the mouth of the wormhole was opened, some of the sweeping blue trails of it’s entrance could be seen from her room. Just the edge in the upper right hand corner. Her eyes kept traveling to that spot now, even though the entrance remained invisible. Her thoughts lingering on Ben and the Bajoran Prophets. What would he think about all of this? What would he tell her to do?

Ben had been Curzon’s student, and Jadzia’s friend, but he was Ezri’s mentor. It seemed their friendship had come full circle in the three lifetimes it had persisted. He was Dax’s oldest and truest of friends. And she needed him. Now more than ever.

 

* * *

 

“She wasn’t an Initial…”

Jadzia was biting her lip as she sat up in her bed reading the PADD she’d made Julian download for her before she’d left the medical bay. Her own clearance codes had been wiped from the station’s systems — as was policy for all deceased crew, to ensure no shady characters attempted to gain access to sensitive material with old passcodes — so she had needed help to access anything that wasn’t available in the public section of the station’s datacore. It was turning out to be quite the inconvenience, having been dead. _Who knew._ But after Julian had kept her for tests until almost 0200 hours, Dax had an easy enough time convincing him to give her access to a few service and medical histories. Namely: her own, and Ezri’s.

Was it technically unethical to be looking at someone’s medical history without their permission? It sure as hell was. But, as Jadzia was discovering, Dr. Bashir had redacted a fair bit of _both_ the files, a fact that angered Jadzia to no end. She’d give him hell for it in the morning.

But most of her agitation had leaked from her mind as she read just how Ezri had come into the Dax symbionte. How she was on record as an unjoined Trill who had never even applied for the Initiate program, her application to Starfleet Academy followed by her high academic marks and early success in the field of psychology, her pristine record aboard the Destiny. All and all the young woman had seemed on her way to being a true prodigy in her field.

Until, suddenly, the file took a turn.

Not long after Stardate 51954.2, Ezri began having trouble. She was struggling to perform her duties on time, showing up for her work shifts late, canceling her appointments, being disciplined for unauthorized use of various ship’s functions. Once, she’d even completely dismantled a power junction without permission and reassembled it in the likeness of an old 23rd Century model. It blew out half the systems on the deck. When asked why she’d done it, Ezri had apparently thought the system was at risk of imploding, only to discover that were it the old 23rd Century design, it would have, but that Starfleet had long since moved on to a more refined process with the conduit’s power source.

Jadzia shook her head and put the PADD down beside her in her bed. She stared at the ceiling of her guest quarters. _That poor girl,_ she thought. _She threw her life into chaos just to save Dax_. She rested her hand over her abdomen. She felt the small worm inside her press back against her hand. All her life, Jadzia had known she wanted to be a host. Maybe she hadn’t always come at it with the passion and fervor spurred in her once Curzon had gotten her ejected from the program, but she couldn’t remember even once thinking of the Joining as anything but an honor. But to this girl, it was a burden. A life altering one.

 _She must hate me._ Jadzia thought. _Hate me for dying. Hate me for stealing her life away from her._ And Jadzia couldn’t even blame her for it. She probably would’ve hated herself for it, too. Hated her the way she had hated Curzon when he got her evicted from the program. Hated her maybe the way Arjin had when he thought Jadzia was going to do the same to him.

That idea didn’t sit well with Jadzia. Being _loathed_ from beyond the grave. Or _back_ from it, as was the case, now. Obviously the young woman had managed to find her footing eventually. Make something of a home for herself here on the station. And _clearly_ Jadzia’s friends had taken to her well enough. Miles and Julian had seemed about ready to tie Jadzia down in order to protect Ezri. And Kira seemed to have gotten close with her as well, the way she spoke of her that afternoon in Ops. Dax always did trust her friends to be good judges of characters.

She wanted to know her, she realized suddenly, as she lay there staring at the wall of a dark and unfamiliar room. Wanted to talk to her. In a way, Ezri had Jadzia at a disadvantage. With the Dax symbionte inside her, Ezri would have already known all there was to know about Jadzia, but all Jadzia knew of Ezri was a bland file on a Starfleet issue PADD, half of which Julian had blacked out in the interest of confidentiality.

It was a bizarre sensation to know that somebody out there — an utter stranger, really — knew her so completely. There were things about herself this woman would have known that Jadzia probably hadn’t even told Worf! And he’d been her husband! Not even things she wouldn’t have wanted to tell him, but just because it hadn’t come up yet. And sure, maybe not every memory had made its way to the surface for Ezri yet. Maybe one day she’d be ordering toast from the replicator and the smell would trigger some long-buried recollection of a Saturday morning Jadzia had spent in childhood, sitting at the kitchen table and talking quietly with her mother. Such mundane, personal memories were the type that rarely worked their way into conversation with others, but were still a part of you, just the same. Maybe even more so than one might realize. How many half-forgotten, sleepy Saturday mornings make up a person? Who they are? More than a battle, a wedding, or a funeral. It’s the memories we rarely think about or share that probably build who we are moreso than anything else.

Jadzia was just realizing that for the first time, now. In more than three centuries worth of memories, she’d never once stopped to consider which ones were the most important, the most private, the least shared.

There was a chirp at her door. At first, she wasn’t sure she’d heard it. Thought it to be perhaps an hallucination. A product of an overly-busy mind in an underly-rested body. It had to be nearly 0300 hours, maybe later. Surely after the last few days’ excitement, anyone aboard the station wouldn’t be awake at such an hour. But, yet, here she was, awake, and hearing things.

Then it came again. Jadzia sat up in bed.

_While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door…_

She recalled the human poem, having read it a long time ago, either at the Academy or during her own search for the forgotten talents — composers, playwrights, poets, and so on — of the many worlds she’d seen. She got up from her bed and walked to the threshold to the bedroom area which looked out into the living area of the small space.

“Come,” she called out, and the doors opened. A silhouette stood in the doorframe, not stepping in. Jadzia squinted but couldn’t recognize the form.

“Computer, lights,” she said.

The lights came on, and there, at Jadzia’s door, in her civilian clothing, stood Ezri Dax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have been tuning in & have read so far. I'm really enjoying writing this & I'm hopeful that anybody reading is enjoying it, too. I feel like DS9 isn't a very active fandom on this site or within fanfiction in general so let me just say that it warms my heart to see that some people are following along and marking my little fic as I continue to explore these ideas. I love getting feedback and I'd love to know what your thoughts are, especially with regard to some of my headcanon that's been working my way into the piece regarding Ezri's backstory and Trill society as a whole. Much love!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I accidentally deleted this chapter of this story for about 3 minutes. I'm so angry with myself and I'm not sure how it happened. But I was able to post the chapter again and put things back in their proper order. However, it did erase all the comments people had made on Chapter 5 (which is a total bummer since that was one of the ones I was getting the most feedback on). Oh well! Nothing to be done about it now. I did reach out to site support but my gut feeling is that there's nothing they'll be able to do to recover the original chapter and comments. Just wanted to make everyone aware that I was not intentionally deleting comments. Thank you everyone who has been supportive of this piece and patient with me as I learn how things work on this platform.

The pair spent a good several seconds just looking at each other. Ezri seemed twice ready to say something, but each time the words seemed to evaporate in the air before they could reach Jadzia.

Finally, in effort to break the tension, Jadzia said in an overly cordial fashion, “Well, won’t you come in?”

Ezri seemed to have forgotten she was still standing out in the hallway. In the middle of the night. In her sleep clothes. Were anyone else out in the corridor, they might have gotten the wrong idea. She nodded her thanks and stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind her as she squinted in the bright lights.

“Computer, lights to forty-percent,” Jadzia said, having been squinting, herself. As they dimmed, she stepped out into the room.

“Thanks,” said Ezri, lowering the hand which had been raised like a visor to shield her tired eyes.

“Don’t mention it,” Jadzia said, standing on the opposite side of the room. “I’m surprised you stopped by.”

“I surprised myself,” Ezri said, “But I do that a lot, these days.”

“Please, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No that’s alright. Thank you,” But she did sit. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? You look like I woke you.”

“No,” Jadzia answered, “No, I was just reading.” She went to her replicator and ordered a decaf raktajino. Hot and double-sweet.

“Anything good?” Ezri asked. She sounded awkward, like a child trying to make small talk at a cocktail party.

“Hm?”

“What you were reading. Anything good?”

“Oh, uh… Just catching up on news around the station.”

“Ah. Interesting.”

“Very.”

As the ceramic, blue mug materialized, Jadzia picked it up and moved to sit on the free chair. Ezri had perched herself on the arm of the small couch. Jadzia hadn’t realized how much _shorter_ than she Ezri was. It only served to make her look younger. A pang of guilt struck Jadzia square in the chest. She raised her mug and took a long drink of her coffee to obscure the way it made her face contorted. _Damn!_ She just burned the ever-loving daylights out of the roof of her mouth.

“Too hot?” Ezri asked, obviously seeing the way Jadzia scowled at the mug as if it were at fault for the burn.

“A little.” She set it down to give it time to cool off.

Again, they each spent several seconds staring at the other. Every time it seemed one of them was going to speak, the words never quite made it out their mouths.

“It’s funny,” Jadzia said, standing up to walk the perimeter of the room. “I thought I had so much I wanted to say to you. I had been willing to mow down Julian and Miles earlier to get to your quarters. But now, you’re here... and I don’t know what I want to say.”

“I know what you mean,” Ezri answered, “All day I’ve been terrified to leave my room in case I might bump into you somewhere. And then I’m getting ready for bed and I started thinking about everything, and, well, next thing I know I’m looking up your room assignment and showing up at your door!”

“Terrified? Of me?”

“A little.” Ezri could see the way her words seemed to wound Jadzia. But it was too late to recind them. More to the point, they were true. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to keep them from shaking. She bounced her foot nervously up and down with enough force to stress the station’s inertial dampers.

“I wish you wouldn’t be,” Jadzia said, again thinking of Arjin. “I’m the one who should be nervous.”

Ezri laughed.

“I mean it! You know all there is to know about me. All my thoughts, my feelings. My whole life. But I’ve only just met you.” She sat back down. “I… had Julian look up your file for me. I may have been reading it before you stopped in.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“He told me.”

“Did he?” She sounded vaguely annoyed, but not enough to carry any weight. Her eyebrow perked and she looked off for a moment.

“Don’t be angry with him,” Ezri said, “He had to. He and I- well, we’re…”

At first, Jadzia looked confused, and then her eyes went wide as her gaze returned to those of her successor.

“ _No_.”

“Yeah.”

“You and Julian?”

“Yeah.”

She stared blankly. For a minute, Ezri was certain she was mad. An apology was halfway up her throat when, to her surprise, Jadzia instead burst out laughing.

“ _You_ and _Julian?_ ” she repeated.

“Yes-- Hey! What’s so funny?”

She smiled and put her hand over her grin, obscuring it as she shook her head. “Nothing, it’s just, well… _you and Julian!”_ The idea alone spoke for itself.

Ezri looked beside herself, her eyes growing wide and her mouth opening, preparing a defense which never made it out. Rather, she shook her head and she too began to laugh, trying, and failing, to fight the grin from her lips. Her laughing only made Jadzia laugh harder. And Jadzia’s laughing harder only heightened Ezri’s laughter in return.

When the giggling died down, they were each left with smiles on their faces, the kind that ached a little but were not yet ready to leave.

“I always told myself…” Jadzia muttered, “that if it hadn’t been…”

“-For Worf,” Ezri finished. Jadzia nodded. Slowly, she brought her eyes up to meet Ezri’s. A particular calm had settled over the room. The hour of night was beginning to wear on them.

“Have you talked to him yet?”

Jadzia shook her head. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Try starting with _‘I’m alive.’_ ”

Jadzia huffed a laugh. One short syllable. They each knew it wasn’t that simple.

“He took it hard,” Ezri told her. She didn’t know why she said it. She didn’t mean to add to any of Jadzia’s reservations, “When you died. But... he deserves to know.”

“I know. And I’ll tell him. I just… I guess I’m still trying to figure this all out on my own, first.”

“I know the feeling.”

Jadzia looked at her. The gaze was heavy. Heavy to match the meaning in Ezri’s words. Whether she’d realized their weight as she’d said them or not.

“I want to go into the wormhole. To talk to the Prophets.”

“What?” Ezri blinked, thrown through a loop by the suddenness of the admission.

“I want you to come with me.”

“What? — Why? You think the Prophets have something to do with this?”

Jadzia shook her head. As much as she respected Kira and her beliefs, she didn’t really share them. The wormhole aliens were not gods. They were wormhole aliens. But they were wormhole aliens that knew where Benjamin was.

“I want them to send Benjamin a message for me… for us.”

“You think they’d listen?”

“It’s worth a try.”

Ezri fell silent. She looked away to stare over her shoulder out the window. From this angle, you couldn’t see the wormhole even if it was open.

Jadzia was quiet too. She watched Ezri, observing her mannerisms and trying to detect which parts of her were foreign and which parts recognizable. The way she held her hands, or how she bit her lip, or the way she tilted her head and looked off to one side as she sat, thinking. _She’s you,_ a voice in Jadzia’s head told her, _She’s us._ But... she also _wasn’t_. Like the way Odo had been Curzon, but also hadn’t been. Jadzia couldn’t predict what was going through the other woman’s head. And that troubled her.

In that lighting, when Ezri turned her head, her face vanished in the murky light of the dimmed overhead. She was silhouetted by the stars behind her. To Jadzia, the scene looked lovely and sad, like an unfinished painting.

Finally, Ezri spoke in a small voice. It was hushed, as if to keep the words a secret from the night around them, lest it leak out into dreams and turn to stardust in the skies. “I felt so lost when I first came here. When I first got Dax. It was strange… I had all these voices in my head and yet I’d never felt so alone. Everything was different. I’d look in the mirror and I wouldn’t recognize myself.”

She shook her head before looking up at Jadzia. She seemed like she expected her to say something, but when no words were offered, she turned her glance away again, looking down at her hands. Jadzia watched the way the lights outside the station shone in, casting a halo around her guest.

“Everything changed. And now it’s all changing again. And I’m feeling lost all over. Like I’m going to break apart, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to put myself together again.” Her words were so soft that Jadzia struggled to hear them, having to lean forward just to catch them. Ezri shook her head and fell silent.

After a long moment, Jadzia whispered back, “I’m sorry.”

Ezri looked up. In the pale starlight, Jadzia could only catch the reflections in her watery eyes. But then, so suddenly it caused Jadzia to startle, Ezri jumped to her feet and turned to the window, a hand going up to wipe at her face. “What are you apologizing for? _Dying_?” Her voice was that of somebody trying too hard to make a joke with just a little too much truth in it. As if enough humor could make the statement untrue. The way her voice stressed on the final note confirmed Jadzia’s earlier suspicions.

“I guess I am.” Jadzia rose and slowly walked up behind her. Ezri could see her reflection appear beside her in the window. The light made them each seem broken apart across the stars. Half of Jadzia’s face in shadow, half of Ezri’s, each distorted and warped and sad. “Sorry for what it meant for you. The pain you went through. If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I didn’t mean to die like that.”

Their eyes met through their shared gaze into the glass. Ezri smiled very slightly. It didn’t reach her eyes. Jadzia looked out, beyond them each and into the vastness. Beyond the constellations that she knew and the ones she didn’t know. Beyond the moments and the memories that she could not recall.

“From what Julian told me, and what I read in my file, I didn’t like the sound of it.”

“Dying never gets easier. We both know that.” She could remember the way Jadzia had once spoken to Kang and Koloth: _You Klingon’s treat death like an old lover,_ she’d said, _I think living is a lot more attractive._

“Yes, but it’s more than that.” Jadzia shook her head, “I died a senseless death. Just because I was in Dukat’s way. Isn’t that right?” Ezri didn’t respond but Jadzia didn’t need her to, “I’ve always known the risks that come with a Starfleet uniform. But… if I was going to die, I can’t help but wish my death had counted for something.”

Ezri looked away. Her thoughts and feelings twisted around inside her head, and she was left uncertain as to how Jadzia’s words sat with her.

“It did,” she finally said. Jadzia paused and waited for an explanation. “If you hadn’t died… I wouldn’t be here.”

“No. You’d be back on the Destiny, living the life you’d wanted.”

They fell silent. Ezri shuffled the words in her mouth, trying to force them to make sense before letting them out. “A few months ago, I might have agreed with you. Actually, I know I would have. But… I wouldn’t take it back, now. Dax, I mean. I was so lost for so long. And I still make mistakes, but… I _am_ Dax. No less than you are.” She turned and looked her predecessor in the eyes, no longer allowing the distorted reflection to act as her safety net. “Maybe that’s why this is all so difficult. Can two people be the same person. Or, well…” Jadzia nodded. She knew what Ezri meant, even if Ezri didn’t quite understand it herself. It was that empty space between where the words couldn’t reach that they had found each other. Each a little lost and a little sad and a little unwhole.

And they didn’t speak for a long while, afraid to break the understanding the silence had brought them.

“—Come with me into the wormhole tomorrow.”

“... Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to that second dialogue Easter Egg. Can you spot it? (Also, I'm not too familiar with AO3, so I don't really know if it's typical to reply to comments left on your stories or not. But please know to the couple of you who have left a kind word that I sincerely appreciate the feedback and encouragement and it helps motivate me to keep exploring these concepts and continue to flesh them out. Thank you to everyone joining me on this little journey.)


	6. Chapter 6

The station was coming back to life. Walking the Promenade early the next morning, Jadzia saw little evidence of the evacuation. If she’d re-materialized today, she never would have known there’d been a plasma storm at all. Every storefront was awake and alive with foot traffic and the sound of buying or bartering. People asking about prices, about materials. “Do you have this in anything smaller?” “What’s today’s special?” “How long ago did this shipment come in?”

The only thing notably out of place to Dax was Garak’s shop, which was dark. The lights were off and the room was empty, save some barren racks and coatless coathangers.

“He’s back on Cardassia Prime,” Julian told her, “Helping rebuild. We still keep in touch.”

And then there’d been the sanctuary. The spot where her personnel file informed Jadzia she had died. What had she even been doing _in_ there? In six years of service aboard the station, Jadzia could count on one hand the number of times she’d entered the Bajoran shrine. It seemed bitterly unfair that she’d died in what was essentially little more than _bad timing._

She lingered by the doorway and listened. No prayer service was underway at the moment. No sermons being delivered. No hymns being sung. Only gentle silence. Stepping in, though hardly knowing why, Jadzia found the quiet emptiness alien and uncomfortable. The muted sound of her footfalls against the carpeting seemed a shattering intrusion. She wandered through the rooms, finally finding her steps had led her to the front of a small altar. Candles burned all around. The smell was uniquely _Bajor._ Nothing of Trill or Earth smelled quite as it did here, in this place. It made Jadzia feel strangely at odds with her environment. _She did not belong here._

In the alcove of the altar was a large, metallic box. Heavy by the looks of it. Inside, Jadzia imagined, was an Orb. What did the Bajorans call them? _‘Tears of the Prophets’?_ Which one was this? The Orb of Contemplation? The Orb of Prophecy? She could never remember them all, no matter how many times Kira reminded her.

And anyway, Jadzia was a scientist. She wasn’t one to put much stock in religion. But she respected the cultures of her friends, and, in return, she hoped they did the same for her. And while the Orbs never inspired in her the same sense of awe and wonderment as they did Kira or even Benjamin, she could remember the brief encounter she’d once had with one during her first days aboard the station. The way it seemed to have reached into the depths of who she was and bring to the surface a most powerful memory: the moment when she’d received the Dax symbionte from Curzon. An instance she’d come to think of now as the moment she’d become _whole_.

Now what was she? She felt neither whole nor broken. More like _lacking_. Missing elements - memories, and the pieces of yourself that came with them. Maybe this emptiness was the place where most people found faith.

Without thinking, she reached a hand forward and opened the box.

Suddenly, she saw red. Saw red, and felt fire. Everywhere in the room burst into flames, radiating painful heat from every direction like hot coals against her skin. A wild terror gripped her, saturating her straight to the bone with such force she found herself gasping for air, of which she could find none. She couldn’t breath. Strangulated by an unseen and unrelenting force. It was as though a rock had been dropped on top of her chest. She tried to grab at her throat, tried to cough or to wheeze, but she was overcome with a deadly paralysis unlike any forcefield she’d ever experienced. A piercing, unyielding, burning grasp, as if the hand of a vexed god had reached up from some great, terrible inferno and seized her in its Argonaut claw. All the while, the room continued to fill with burning, licking flames. Somewhere, vaguely, she thought she heard a voice she recognized.

Suddenly, she was yanked away from the orb, pulled by a set of strong hands. She gasped, looking around her with a sort of rabid terror not unlike a cornered animal. The room was once again dim and quiet, unaffected by flames and seemingly unaware of the lurking wrath of any vengeful deity. She tried to speak, but was unable to articulate the sensations she’d just befallen.

“My child,” said the red-robed Vedek who’d come to her aid, “You should not be here alone. An Orb Experience can be most dangerous to those unprepared.”

Dax had no arguments there, and though she wished to apologize for her brash intrusion, she found herself still unable to speak, shaken to her very core by whatever force had just seized her. After several more seconds of choking down air, she managed to ask, “That Orb — which one is it?”

”Dear girl,” the Vedek answered, “this is the Orb of Memory.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ezri was pacing the corridor outside of the airlock, waiting for Jadzia to arrive. Julian was by her side, watching as she took ten steps this way, eight steps that way, twelve steps this way, thirteen steps that way. He smiled, slightly, keeping count in his head. _One-hundred three, one-hundred four, one-hundred five…_

“Stop counting,” Ezri told him.  
“I wasn’t.”  
“Yes, you were.”  
“Yes, I was.” 

More pacing. _One-hundred twelve, one-hundred thirteen, one-hundred fourteen…_

“Where is she?”  
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”  
“We said o’seven-hundred. What time is it now?”  
“Ten after.” 

_One-hundred twenty-seven, one-hundred twenty-eight..._

 “You don’t have to go, you know?”  
“Yes, I do.”  
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”  
“I know.”  
“I know you know.”  
“Then you know I’m still going to do it, anyway.”  
“Yes, I know you _both_ will.”  
“You’re not happy about it.”  
“No, I’m not.”  
“Thank you.”  
“For what?”  
“For not fighting me about it.”  
“I would. If I thought it would do any good.”

_One-hundred forty-two, one-hundred forty-three, one-hundred forty-four..._

Julian looked up, having heard the soft sound of footfalls long before Ezri could have. “Here she comes.” He turned to Ezri. “Well, I suppose I should go then.”

“Thank you, again.”

He paused for a moment before kissing her on the cheek and quickly making off around the bend. When Ezri turned back to Jadzia, she was half expecting a smile and another coy comment, but, instead, Jadzia seemed lost in a daze.

 

“Is everything alright?”  
“Hm?” Jadzia blinked, “Oh. No. Everything’s alright. I think.”  
“Do you feel alright? You look a little pale.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“I could call Julian back.”

“No.” she answered too quickly. It didn’t take a psychologist’s training to know she was hiding something, and the look on Ezri’s face must’ve said so, because Jadzia sighed and elaborate.

“I’d just had a very… _interesting_ encounter at the Bajoran Shrine.”

“The shrine? What were you doing in there?” Ezri hadn’t been there herself since her first week aboard the station, when she’d spoken to Kira about Jadzia having died there. For obvious reasons, the memories weren’t really the kind to bring her back since. But there was no way Jadzia could have known about that.

Jadzia shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just felt… _drawn in_ , somehow. I can’t explain it.” She shook her head and took a few hesitant steps towards the airlock, her eyes on the floor and shifting back and forth as she processed the memory. “I had an encounter with one of the Orbs. I saw something…” By the way she trailed off, Ezri could tell it wasn’t a _pleasant_ something, whatever it was.

“Did you speak to a Vedek?”

“Yes. Briefly. But he didn’t give me much to go on.”

“The Prophets work in mysterious ways,” Ezri said. It was something she’d heard Kira say a hundred times or more over the years.

Jadzia looked up at that, her expression unreadable. “They certainly do.”

“Do you still want to do this? Go into the wormhole?”

“Now more than ever.”

 

* * *

 

 

The launch procedure was painfully time-consuming, made three times as cumbersome with the addition of about half a dozen precautions by the Chief, who was still worried about how the plasma storm may have affected the mouth of the wormhole.

“Chief,” Jadzia eventually said over the comm, “It’s either going to work or it won’t.”

“Now listen, I don’t want you actually going _through_ to the other side just yet, alright?” O’Brien said, “Not until we do some more tests to make sure you’ll actually be able to get back if you do. You’re just going in to have a talk with the non-linear lifeforms that live inside. As soon as you do, turn the runabout around and come right back to the station.”

“Got it.” Jadzia ended the call. As she worked at her pilot’s seat, Ezri sat by the second control panel and watched, carefully noting the other woman’s mannerisms. Jadzia had seemed in a bad mood since she’d arrived at the airlock. _What was it she saw in that vision?_ Ezri wondered.

They made their way to the wormhole at half impulse, scanners on high to try and detect any irregularities in the readings.

“Everything seems clear,” Ezri said, calling up the live feed as the sensors continued to collect data and the large blue waves burst from the blackness, looking to Ezri like a drop of ink hitting a cup of water if you were watching from the bottom of the glass.

“Good. Now, let’s get to the party.” And Jadzia led the nose of the ship into the electrifying center.

The instant their shuttle had been swallowed by the entrance, it was evident that things were _different_ in the artificially created tear through space. All around them was sickly, muted grey colors. Gone were the normal vibrant blue-greens. And while never an easy ride, starships were usually still able to navigate reasonably well if prepared for the turbulence. This time, however, the shuttle was instantly thrown wildly off course, swept away in a strong undertow that stressed the hull of the ship. Alarms started to sound, yellow alert automatically engaged and the computer beginning to count down as the power to the shields took a nosedive. _“Shield strength to seventy-five percent. Seventy-four. Seventy-three. ----Sixty-seven. Sixty-”_

“Computer,” Jadzia interrupted, “ _Mute_ alert.”

The ship was hit with a hard wave before she had time to correct for it, and the runabout was sent into a spiral. Both women gripped their control stations to keep from being sent flying out of their chairs, and Ezri attempted to call up the co-pilot program. _I’m going to be sick,_ she thought, gritting her teeth. “We’ve got to compensate for these drifts.” she said.

“I’m trying to recalibrate the thrusters, but the waves are too unpredictable.”  
“We’ll have to put it through manually.”  
“We can’t. The navigation system is useless under these conditions.”  
“No, no, we can do it! Here, I’m pulling up the sensor feed. Take your cues from me.”  
“We’ve got no idea which direction we’re going in. We might be heading for the wrong end of the wormhole.”  
“Trust me. Hard to starboard.”

Jadzia hesitated. _I don’t know what she’s planning. How can she have any clue where we are if the sensors are scrambled?_

Ezri looked up from her panel. “I don’t have time to explain. Just _trust_ me. Hard to starboard.” 

 _—She’s just a kid. A counselor._ I’m _the science officer. I have all of the host memories she does. How can she have a plan I can’t come up with-?_

“Jadzia! _Now!_ ”

Jadzia slammed the controls and the shuttle veered left. They were thrown into another harsh current.

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”  
“I do.” Ezri said. _I think._  “--Another thruster burst at half power, hard to port... Again. Wait, wait! - Try to come about.”  
“We’re losing velocity.”  
“I know, I know. Look! Coming up on the sensors - Yes! I’m picking up atmosphere.” She looked up from her controls and with wide eyes tried quickly to explain, “Do you remember the first time you and Ben went into the wormhole? The ship found some kind of a—”

They were slammed into the control center as the ship suddenly made contact with ground. _They’d landed_. All around them was a blinding, pure white light. Jadzia shielded her eyes with her hand and Ezri did the same. 

“Is this what you had in mind?”  
“More or less.”  
“Atmospheric readings?”  
“Class M, just like last time.” 

 _Just like last time,_ Jadzia thought, _except different._

“Well then, let’s go up to the door and knock.”

 

* * *

 

 

They raised the doors to the runabout and hesitantly stepped out. They looked around them, each remembering how on the first trip here Dax and Commander Sisko had each seen an environment entirely different from the other, although still occupying the same space and able to speak to one another.

“What are you seeing?” Jadzia called out.

Ezri turned slowly, soaking in the sights around her.

“It’s… a seashore, somewhere. Night time. There are two moons. And a sharp wind coming off the ocean. High tide, by the looks of things. The waves crashing against the rocks are at least ten feet high. I’m on some kind of a precipice overlooking the shore. The beach looks like it’s just been through a storm…” It all looked so _real._ But, _was it?_ Could something be real if the person standing beside you was experiencing something else entirely? “How do things look to you?”

All around Jadzia was shrieking winds. She squinted as she tried to make out the details of the grey, devious environment. “Terrible. It’s like the Tenaren ice cliffs during the monsoons of 2073.” She could remember watching the reports during her time as Lela Dax. Hearing about the carnage that was laying waste to the region, doing all she could in her position in the Trill legislature to rally for additional aid to help the families whose lives were being torn apart.

So they’d both gotten dark environments. But not the same ones. Jadzia’s was in the middle of a fierce storm, whereas for Ezri, the storm had already passed, but she was surrounded by the damage it had left behind.

“No one got the gardens today?”  
“I guess the Prophets aren’t in the mood for a picnic.”  
“Maybe… Anything else?”  
“No — Wait…” Jadzia squinted and pointed over Ezri’s shoulder. “Do you see that? Up ahead, about six meters up in the air.”  
Ezri turned around and followed Jadzia’s gaze. “Yes!”

Moving towards them at high speed was a large, hourglass shaped object. It hung in the air like a hummingbird, cutting through the winds with ease and stopping to hover over them. The bright green glow it emitted made it impossible to look upon directly. A beam shot out and covered each of the woman in revolving shades of verdigris. Jadzia pulled out her tricorder and ran it over Ezri as the beam moved from the woman’s feet up to her shoulders, before doing the same with Jadzia.

“We’re being scanned — Brace for impact!”

Just as it had been seven years ago with her and Commander Sisko, the light of the Orb suddenly burst forward and both women were knocked off their feet. The scenery around them evaporated into the seering nothingness of hot, white light.

Jadzia got up from the ground and began to look around them. _“Hello—!”_ she called out into the vastness, hearing her words return to her in an otherworldly echo. Ezri got to her feet as well, looking around and squinting to try and make out anything, but all there was in any direction was unadulterated light. _“Hello! We know you’re here. We just want to talk to you.”_

Suddenly, the whiteness was gone, and the women were back in the cargo bay of Deep Space Nine. Everything had a strange aura around it. The world seemed to be blurred. The motion of the people around them seemed stalled out, and the details of every surface were lost in a hazy glow. It felt like watching a dream.

Someone using Chief O’Brien as a vessel approached them. He looked back to his Engineering crew behind him, all of whom had stopped their work to stare at the strangers. “They are outsiders. What do they want?”

Now, they were in the Ops center with Kira, Miles, and Julian. Doctor Bashir circled, looking at them with skepticism in his eyes. “They are of one mind. But it is broken.”

“And they are of two times,” said Kira.  
“But they are linear. As The Sisko had been.”

The room changed again. This time to the medical bay. The Bajoran field medic was saying, “They are _not_ of Bajor.”

 

“No, we’re not,” Ezri spoke out.  
“Why are you here?” asked Miles.  
“We need to speak with Benjamin,” said Jadzia.  
“The Sisko?”  
“Yes, that’s right. The Sisko.”  
“We’re his friends,” Ezri added. 

They were now on the promenade, outside the transport to Bajor.

Kira was saying, “The Sisko is with us. His time in your world has finished. His game is up.”  
“This one,” said Julian, his eyes on Jadzia, “Her game has finished also.”  
“But she is here. It is not usual for them.”  
“They wish to control the game. To break the rules. As the Sisko did.” 

 _Why is everything a sports metaphor with you, Benjamin?_ Jadzia thought, getting agitated. But she tried not to show it.

“Sometimes games run long,” Jadzia said. “Benja— _The Sisko_ , has explained baseball to you, hasn’t he?”  
The wormhole aliens seemed to agree.  
“Well, sometimes a game goes into something called extra innings.”  
Miles looked confused. “Extra innings. What is this?”  
“When the winner of a game can’t be decided in the normal run time, the teams get to play longer. It’s sometimes called a _sudden death_ round.”  
" _'Sudden death'_?"  
“That’s right.” 

They seemed to consider this. The world around them continued to change. Cycling through memories of the past few days. The promenade, the sickbay, the runabout.

The wormhole aliens finally asked, “What does your _‘sudden death round’_ involve with The Sisko?”  
“We need his help. His advice. He’s a friend.”  
“A friend?” They looked to Ezri as she had used the phrase earlier, too.  
“Yes.” Ezri said, stepping up beside Jadzia. “Someone we care about. The way you care about Bajor.”

“We are of Bajor.”  
“As is the Sisko.”  
“You are not.” 

“No, we aren’t. We are of Trill.”  
“Trill?” repeated the being occupying Kira.  
“That’s right. Ask Ben about it… Tell him Dax needs to speak with him.”  
“Dax?” Julian repeated.  
“That’s right.” 

The aliens turned to each other, processing this new information they’d just received.

“They are arrogant,” said one.  
“They break the rules. They do not play the game.”  
“Games change.” said another.

Ezri turned and shot Jadzia a look, who was standing with her shoulders hunched and her hands clasped behind her back. Her knuckles were white and she seemed to be biting back the urge to interject in the deliberation. When she caught her eye, Jadzia just gave a single, small nod. _Wait. Wait for it._

The aliens fell silent. They shared a long look between each other before turning to the Ezri and Jadzia.

 

“There will be a price.”  
“Name it.”  
“You will assist us. Our home, it is damaged. Bajor is damaged.” 

“Yes, from the plasma storm.” said Ezri, “We’ve been helping the Bajorans.”  
“You will help us.”  
“How?” Jadzia asked.  
“Make our home as it once was. Take your storms away from us.”  
“We’re trying to work out how the wormhole - how _your home -_ has been affected. We’re doing all we can.”

“You cannot rush the game,” answered one of the aliens, “When the storms have left you, it will have left us.”  
“The plasma storm has already left Bajor’s orbit.”  
“You exist in the storms. You take us here. You must be the ones to quiet them.” 

Ezri turned and knit her brow in confusion, trying to see if Jadzia understood any better than she what these aliens were trying to tell them. She was instead met with a similarly listless stare.

 

“The Sisko,” the aliens said, suddenly, “is here.”

Everything went white.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably could have kept this as part of Chapter 6. So maybe think of this as Chapter 6.5...

_”Ben—?”  
_ _“Benjamin—?”_  
“-Are you there?”

Each of the women spun around, squinting through the blinding bright light to try and find Captain Sisko.

“I’m here,” suddenly said a deep, calm, and collected voice. Detached, almost without emotion. And suddenly, Sisko was standing there in front of them. Despite the fact they’d each been turned in opposite directions when they heard his voice, neither had seen him approach, and when they spun to turn towards the sound, they each ended up facing the same way. _This nonlinear time plane is grating on my last nerve,_ thought Jadzia.

“Ben…” said Ezri, stepping closer. Captain Sisko was standing perfectly still as she approached, and his eyes never broke from their distant stare. If she didn’t know any better Ezri might have thought this was nothing more than a very convincing holo-projection. “Ben, it’s me. Dax.”

At the sound of the name, Sisko seemed suddenly snapped from his trance. His eyebrows peaked up and a spark of life appeared behind his eyes. He shifted to look them both in the eye and each jumped a little at the sudden animation.

“Dax!” he said, smiling as he looked at Ezri. Then, his eyes shifted to Jadzia, still a few paces behind, “—And Dax!”

Jadzia smiled warmly and stepped up. She embraced Benjamin in a tight hug and he smiled into her shoulder. When they broke apart, he turned to Ezri and did the same.

“It’s good to see you, Old Man.”  
“It’s good to see you, too.”  
“Have the Prophets brought you here?”  
“No,” said Jadzia, and Ezri clarified, “Actually, they seemed pretty annoyed about our arrival.”

“We’re still working on people skills,” Ben answered, and all three smiled and gave a small laugh. “But, uh,” he said, and brought a hand up to point back and forth between the two of them, “Then this… I mean, you’re both here. How is this possible?”

“There was a plasma storm over Bajor. A flare hit the station and an old pattern in the transporter buffer reinitialized.”

“Plasma storm,” Sisko repeated, quietly, and his eyes looked away, shifting back and forth, as if he were assembling a jigsaw puzzle and searching for the next piece. “And this transporter pattern…?” He didn’t need to finish the sentence, his eyes just went up to Jadzia.

She gave a nod, “-Was me.”

After a brief pause, Benjamin’s blank stare turned into a grin, and that grin opened up and he began to laugh. “ _Huh-hoo!_ I shouldn’t known! Leave it to you, Old Man, to even find a way around dying.”

All three of them shared a good belly laugh. When it settled down, the Captain wiped at his eyes and put a hand over his chest. “My, my, my,” he said, “Well now what _are_ we going to do with you two?”

“We were hoping you could help us figure that out,” Ezri answered, “But first… how are things going for you in the arms of the prophets?”

Ben seemed to positively _glow_ the way he smiled at that. Or maybe he _was,_ in fact, _glowing._ It was hard to tell here with all the bright light haloing each of them. “You can’t imagine!” he told them. He sounded like a kid who couldn’t wait to tell a secret directly after promising not to. “Things are so much different here. They’re… _clearer,_ in a sense. But also much, _much_ more complicated. And then there’s— oh… I see,” he looked away for a moment. If he’d had a comm badge on his chest Dax could have sworn he would have just then tapped it.

When he looked up again his features were notably less animate. He seemed tired, upset even. Sad.

“What is it?” Ezri asked him.  
“The Prophets.”  
“What about them?” said Jadzia.  
“They’re hurt. There’s… something…” 

Jadzia stepped up and put a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder, but suddenly he grabbed her and threw her down! The large man that he was, and with the element of surprise, he easily overpowered her and Jadzia fell down and flopped onto her back.

Ezri jumped to take a knee and help Jadzia to her feet, asking, “Ben! What’s the matter with you?”

“That’s _not_ Dax!” Sisko said, looming over them both and pointing an accusatory finger where Jadzia lay sprawled out beneath him. His attention shifted to Ezri, and with just as much venom in his voice he said, “And neither are you!”

“Ben!” Ezri’s eyes went wide and she stared at him incredulously, curling around Jadzia to protect her should he take another swing, “What are you talking about? Of course it’s us!”

“No!” he said, “No! This isn’t you. Dax is _gone._ Dax is _missing!_ And you’ve brought a parasite here in its place!”

“Benjamin!” said Jadzia as she rose to her feet with only minimal help from her shorter counterpart. “You’re not making any sense. Look at me. It’s your friend. Jadzia.”

“Jadzia is _dead._ I _know!_ I _mourned_ her. I watched her _husband_ mourn her. I asked the Prophets to watch over her soul! And now look what you’ve done!”

He turned his back on them both. Ezri and Jadzia stood, speechless, looking at each other and silently pleading for one of them to get an idea.

“This is what they were warning me about…” Sisko said, more softly, speaking to himself, “This is what is hurting the Celestial Temple.”

“The Celestial Temple was already affected by the plasma storm long before we took the runabout inside,” Ezri said.

Ben just shook his head. “No. No, it doesn’t work like that here. This was the _cause,_ not the effect. Everything that has happened is because you both have come here.”

_I hate time travel,_ thought Ezri, sighing deeply as she tried to make sense of her friend’s words. This wasn’t the Ben she knew. She felt as lost speaking with him as she’d been five minutes ago with the Prophets.

The captain turned back around, slowly, and looked at them skeptically. He looked fierce and determined, fire in his eyes. He seemed as an arbiter of fate, ready to pass judgement on them both. Until, through no cause Ezri could perceive, his expression suddenly softened. Something had change. The anger bled from his eyes and was replaced with a warm but melancholy expression. Maybe something he was seeing. Something from the future, perhaps. Or maybe the past. Could he even tell the difference anymore?

“You aren’t Dax,” he said again, though this time more calm, more sad, “Not yet, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jadzia sound exasperated and frankly at her wits end. She never had the patience for cryptic messages the way Kira and Sisko had. She preferred her answers more immediate, of the uniform, mathematical variety.

“It means,” said Benjamin, stepping up closer and smiling, “That you’re going to have to work together. Both of you. To fix the storm.”

“The storm,” Ezri repeated, “The Prophets said something about that to us. They said we had to save their home from a storm.”

Sisko nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“But we don’t know what that means.”

Captain Sisko looked away for a moment, and suddenly all around them morphed from the clean, white nothingness to a scene of disaster and disarray. The found themselves on a crowded, dirt road. All around them were small vehicles capable of grinding through the mud around them. Buildings were half knocked over and people were on their hands and knees, digging through the dirt and debris, calling out names. If they weren’t using tools they worked just with their fingernails, hands cracked, dried, and bloody. Others were running up, passing out water bottles, sleeping bags, Starfleet field rations. People were standing around, holding hands in circles and singing Bajoran hymnes, praying to the Prophets for strength and wisdom during these trying times. All of this, and while the wind blew around them, Jadzia and Ezri felt nothing. Sisko stood and looked around as well, apparently unaffected by the elements, himself. It was like watching history reels through an old-fashioned holodeck. One that hadn’t worked out the way to make realistic feeling environments just yet. The trio was in their own, private and peaceful bubble, as chaos went on in every direction around them.

“Do you recognize it?” He asked.  
“Yes,” said Jadzia after a moment of silence as realization dawned on her, “This is Bajor. The Dahkur Province, not far from where Kira grew up.”  
“That’s right. This is what it looks like now, in your timeline.”  
“After the plasma storm?”  
“Yes.”  
“It’s awful,” Ezri whispered, softly.  
“It’s nothing,” said Sisko in a grim tone, “Compared to how it _will_ be.”

The scene around them changed. Much of the natural landscape stayed the same. The mountains were still visible in the distance, roads and paths were still paved, but homes which had in the previous vision been worn or badly damaged were now nothing more than piles of ash over crumbling foundation. Th sky was a grim greyish-red, and in the distance there was the sound of phaser fire and screams.

“What is this?” Jadzia asked, “What’s happened here?”

“Things which have been set into motion,” Benjamin told her, “Tell me something, Dax, what’s the worst part of a disaster?”

Both Ezri and Jadzia paused to consider the question.

Ezri was the first to try her hand at the answer, “The loss.”

The world around them turned white once more.

“Bingo,” said Captain Sisko.

Jadzia nodded, catching on to what Benjamin was saying, “Homes can be rebuilt, crops can be replanted, livestock and equipment can be replaced-”

“But you can’t bring back what’s gone. Houses, sure. But homes? People?” He shook his head.

Jadzia felt her heart sink. She visibly deflated. “So what you’re saying is… This is my fault? I shouldn’t be here. I should be gone.”

“No,” answered Benjamin, catching each woman by surprise, “What I’m saying is, you’re _missing_ something. And you need to get it back or you’ll never be home.”

“...My memories,” said Jadzia.

“That’s a start, Old Man.”

Ezri piped in, “But I have all of Jadzia’s memories. So they’re not gone.”

Ben nodded. “And, Counselor, what do you do when a patient can’t recall a memory.” By his tone, it was more a test than an actual question.

“You help them get it back,” she answered.

“That’s right.”

“But how do we do that?”

Captain Sisko shrugged, “You’re the ones with that slug in your gut, Old Man. Seems to me _you’d_ be the experts on how to get memories from one host to another.”

Ezri and Jadzia shared a look. “It’s possible…” said Jadzia, “If we called upon the Trill homeworld, that they could send out a Guardian. To transfer your memories to me, the way it’s done during a zhain’tara.”

“But zhain’taras are only temporary. And when the memories are in the surrogate host the symbionte can’t remember them.”

“I guess no one ever gets amnesia on Trill,” Sisko said, a small smirk on his face, and each of the Dax’s shot an agitated glare over their shoulders at him. This only served to make his smile wider.

“I’m sure you two will… figure it out.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with Bajor,” Jadzia said, but it was too late. Already, the light was growing brighter and both Ezri and Jadzia had to shield their eyes from the glare. Upon inspection a few seconds later, they found themselves back in the runabout, outside of the wormhole and facing Deep Space Nine.

There was a hail coming in. Jadzia tapped it on the touch panel to accept it.

“What happened?” asked O’Brien over the interlink, “You couldn’t’ve been in there for more than a couple of seconds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still very frustrated with myself for accidentally deleting Chapter 5 and therefore the comments that went with it. Please know that it means the world to me that people are enjoying this story and I don't want anyone to feel slighted if I missed their comment and now it's gone. I'm just a total AO3 newbie. 
> 
> On another note, more than anything what I want for this story is for it to read smoothly and seem in-character. I'm realizing as I've been writing these last few chapters that I need to expand the piece beyond just a character study and a "what if" story for how Jadzia and Ezri may co-exist. Initially, my plan was to only tell the first chapter or so in a continuing, narrative form, and then use the rest of the chapters as sort of snap shots of life as everyone adjusts to both Dax's being alive. However, I realized it made more sense to continue the story without these jump cuts. Instead of the story being a collection of "episode" style plots, I'm gearing more now towards one, long story arch, like a movie. So if these newer chapters seem shorter or a little more bogged down by exposition, I promise it's being done for a reason. I just have to establish a few things before I can really kick off the secondary plot. I have to do a little research and re-read a few episode transcripts before I have everything nailed down perfectly, but I do think I'm on to something here. Thanks everyone for reading along! Also, huge thanks to the few people who've told me they've shared a link to this story on their other platforms. Wow! That's just crazy to me! Thank you so much. And, of course, as always I welcome any feedback. Thanks for letting me ramble. Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8

“So what happens now?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you going to put in word with the Symbiosis Commission?”

Ezri nodded, turning to the bathroom with a small pile of neatly folded clothes in her hands. She returned a moment later, dressed in a maroon long sleeve shirt and thin sleep pants, dropping the crumpled armfull that was her uniform into Julian’s hamper unit. “I’m putting in a request tomorrow for them to send out a Guardian.”

 

They’d been together several months now, the counselor and the doctor. Each had a drawer in the others’ bedrooms, and they often spent their nights together, but neither had mentioned putting in a request in for shared quarters. _Let’s take things one day at a time,_ Ezri had said, once, and Julian had agreed.

“Aren’t you due for your zhian’tara?”

Ezri shook her head. “They don’t typically happen for a few years. To give the hosts time to acclimate and decide what they’d even want to ask previous hosts about.”

“I thought with you they might be eager to move the process along.”

“I thought the same thing, at first. I guess they want to take things slow. But under the circumstances…”

“Right.”

 

Ezri got into bed. She pulled up the covers and Julian made room for her. She held him close and they stayed silent for awhile.

 

“How’re you taking all of this?” he asked.

“Better than I thought I would, actually.”

“And Jadzia?”

“She’s… different than I thought she’d be.”

“I’m sorry about what happened in Ops.”

“Don’t be. I told you, I’m not upset.”

“I know. In a funny way I think that makes me feel even more guilty,” he said, then added, teasing, “Or was that your plan all along?”

He smiled at her and she made a face before giving him a hard poke in the gut. He laughed before cupping her face in his hands. His eyes grew more sincere and he said, “You’re remarkable.”

Ezri smiled. She remembered Julian saying something similar once to Jadzia, when they’d first met and he was still pursuing his boyish infatuation. He sounded just as spellbound now, only this time, the statement ran deeper. He _knew_ her now. More than just what he’d heard or what he’d made up in his head. And, more importantly, when he said it this time he was talking to _her — Ezri._ Not Jadzia.

“You’re going to get through this,” he told her, “And I’ll be there for you. Every step of the way.”

“I know,” she said, feeling sleep begin to creep up on her, heavying her eyelids and making slow her thoughts.

“I love you,” he told her.

“Goodnight,” she answered.

 

* * *

 

“So what happens now?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Are you going to put in word with the Symbiosis Commission?”

Jadzia gave a nod, getting up from the couch where she’d been lounging to refill her glass of Spring Wine. She’d already changed into standard civilian attire before meeting Kira in the Colonel’s quarters. She’d found the replication pattern in the database, but it didn’t fit her as comfortably as her old clothes had. Outfits she’d purchased over the years from vendors on the Promenade, for example, many of which Garak had altered for her at none too cheap a price. It only served as another reminder about what all had happened. What all had changed.

“Ezri’s putting in a request tomorrow,” Jadzia said, “I suspect they’d be more than a little shocked to get the call from _me._ ”

 

Each of the women laughed. When Dax refilled her glass she turned and motioned to Kira’s half empty one, and after a brief moment of hesitation, followed by another small sip, Nerys nodded and handed it over. Jadzia topped them each off and came to sit back down.

“Isn’t she due for her zhian’tara? Ezri?”

Jadzia shook her head. “They don’t typically happen for two or three years. It gives the new hosts time to acclimate to their new life as a joined Trill. And time to decide what they’d even want to talk to the previous hosts about.”

Kira nodded. “I guess I thought with Ezri’s situation they’d be more… I don’t know, _eager_ to move the process along.”

Jadzia looked away. She still felt guilty over what had happened with Ezri. No one should have to go through the joining unprepared, even _if_ a portion of that preparation was just padding kept in place by those in power to keep the truth about the symbiontes a secret.

“There’s not much they could do about it even if they did want her to complete the rite sooner. The hosts need to be willing to release the memories to the Guardian for the ceremony to work.”

“Right.”

 

They sat in silence for a time, each sipping at their wine glasses as the night grew old and grey around them. Jadzia could begin to feel a tingle in the back of her head. _This must’ve been a strong vintage_ , she told herself. She didn’t normally feel the effects of Spring Wine. Then again, they _were_ almost done the bottle.

 

Dax looked to her friend, studying her as if they’d only just met. Of all of their comrades, the Colonel seemed to be the one having the hardest time coming to terms with Jadzia’s return. _Maybe because she’d lost so many friends,_ Jadzia would think later as she recalled the events of the night and pondered it some. When you’re fighting a war, you had to get used to losing those you cared about. But what kind of a wrench would it throw into a person’s set of coping strategies when one of those people suddenly comes back? Had she unintentionally, and through no real fault of her own, shaken her friend’s beliefs? Did Kira even accept her as truly _being_ Jadzia Dax? Or was she just a transporter malfunction with an old friend’s face and all too many shared secrets?

 

“How’re you taking all this?” Kira asked.

“I’m… alright,” Jadzia said, wanting to ask Nerys the same thing but biting her tongue. “Better than I thought I would be, actually.”

“And Ezri?”

“She’s,” Jadzia struggled to find the words, “different than I thought she’d be. Today in the shuttle, when we were being thrown around in the subspace storm, she kept her head. Better than I did, actually.” It seemed to trouble Dax as much now in hindsight as it had at the time.

“You’re not exactly the best at flying blind.”

Jadzia glared over the rim of her glass. Kira just smiled at her.

“Maybe. But it looks like I got over it.”

 

There was another silence.

 

“Have you sent for Worf?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“Yes, I just… I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“It’s just that, well, Klingon traditions are so _finite._ You die in battle, you go to Stovokor, you’re mourned, and then…” she shrugged, “That’s it. But with Trill, our lives are more- _fluid,_ I guess you could say. And that’s hard for other species to understand. Honestly, of every friend Dax has had, Benjamin was the only one to ever make the transition so smoothly.”

 

That seemed to resonate with Kira. “And now you’re worried that you being alive again is going to make your having died even harder for him?” she asked.

 

Jadzia nodded. Kira stood up and walked over to the wine bottle, pouring the final splash into her glass, all the while saying, “I can’t understand that! Your his _wife._ He _has_ to be happy to see you.”

 

Jadzia didn’t answer. She just stared out the window to the planet below and decided to change the subject. “Something bad’s going to happen. To Bajor.”

“We’ll stop it.”

“I’m worried it’s because of me.”

“We’ll stop it.”

“What if we can’t?”

“The Prophets wouldn’t have told you about it if nothing could be done. Captain Sisko wouldn’t have, either. If they’re telling you there’s a way, and that you can find it, then there _is_ and you _will_.”

Jadzia looked up at her friend with a flash of green jealousy in her normally blue eyes, “I wish I had your faith.” she told her.

“We’ll get through this,” Kira told her, “We’ll be there for each other. And Bajor. Every step of the way.”

 

Kira held out her glass. Jadzia looked up and the corner of her lips threatened to break into a smile. She held up her glass and they tapped the rims together.

“To Bajor.”

“To _us._ ”

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Ezri walked into the Ops main office, going off like a shaken soda can before the doors had even shut behind her.

 

“I forgot how much I hated talking with the Symbiosis Commission. Or, well, not _me_ , but _Jadzia_ did - _does_ \- you know what I mean. I had to call them three times before I could get someone useful on the line. Then, they didn’t believe me about the transporter accident. They thought I was hallucinating the whole thing and they wanted me to come back for psychiatric treatment. ‘Psychiatric treatment!’ I told them, ‘I’m a psychologist! Don’t you think I’d know if I was going crazy?’ Well, then I had to go down to Security and I was able to bring up the footage from the cargo bay during the plasma storm, but then I had a problem getting the uplink to send the file, but when they finally saw it—— _Are you alright?”_

“Wait, wait, slow down,” Kira said, raising her head from her hands. “What?”

“Are you alright? You look sick.”

“I’m fine, I just- I have a headache.”

“Your eyes are bloodshot… Are you hungover?”

“No.”

“You are!”

“Shh,” Kira said and put her hands up and beckoned Ezri to make her voice softer, “Alright, maybe a little. Don’t talk so loud.”

 _Jadzia, back from the dead not even a week and she’s already the cause for morning hangovers on workdays,_ Ezri thought, shaking her head and smiling at Nerys. After several seconds of dead air, the Colonel looked up to see what Ezri was doing. At the look Dax gave her, Kira just rolled her eyes. “Two of you,” she huffed, “Just what this quadrant needs.”

“Sorry,” Ezri said. But she wasn’t.

“So, wait… What were you saying?”

“The Symbiosis Commission. A long story. Nevermind the details. But a Guardian won’t be here for another three days.”

“ _Three days?_ ”

“It’s a long way from Trill. They’re sending the fastest ship they have available, but it’s only capable of Warp Seven.”

Kira shook her head. “Three days… What are you going to do in the meantime.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Ezri said, “But if you don’t give Jadzia something to do, she’s going to go stir crazy.”

Kira made a face and looked down at her desk. There were about ten different PADDs scattered around, she had a few dozen calls to make, a report to fill out and file, station logs to review from her time down on Bajor…

“How did Captain Sisko ever do all this?” she asked aloud.

“He had a lot of help. From people like you.”

Kira smiled a small, tired smile. She nodded and then got to her feet. “And you,” she said, “... And Jadzia. You know we never did get a replacement Chief Science Officer from Starfleet, did we?”

“There was a war. We didn’t have the time. And Ben kept telling Starfleet that I had all of Jadzia’s memories. Between me and Julian it was all the station really needed.”

“Well, I think it’s time we get the position filled.”

“You want to give Jadzia her old post back?”

“I don’t see why not. We certainly have enough for her to do, between the wormhole and Bajor.”

“We’ll have to get in touch with Starfleet. Get her reinstated.”

“Ugh!” Kira fell back into her chair, “All these _policies_. Talking to the Symbiosis Commission about _this_ and Starfleet Command about _that_! It’s a wonder these bureaucrats ever get anything done.” She sighed and looked around her, waving her hands over her desk. A desk she still thought of as Captain Sisko’s. His baseball was still in its place in the corner.

Softer, after a brief pause, she asked, “...He’s not coming back any time soon, is he?” She didn’t need to clarify. Dax knew what she meant.

“It didn’t seem like it.”

“Have you talked to Jake?”

“Not yet. He’s on a run with Kasidy. He doesn’t get back to the station for another few weeks. I sent out a message on subspace. But I didn’t tell him too much. I figure he needs to hear all this in person.”

She nodded. “You know… Things were a lot simpler in the Resistance.”

“You’re not the first revolutionary to feel that way,” Ezri told her.

After another beat, the Colonel sighed and said, finally with some of her old energy back, “Alright. Get Starfleet Command on subspace. Let’s raise some Hell.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re leaving?” said Jadzia.

“Afraid so,” Miles told her, walking slowly as they made their way down the otherwise empty corridors, “I’m already forty-eight hours behind. I’ve got to get home to Keiko and the kids.”

“Promise you’ll keep in touch.”

He chuckled, “I will.”

 

As they turned the corner, Dr. Bashir came into view. He was waiting by the airlock, a small box in his hand.

“You!” said O’Brien with a mockingly-agitated tone, “What in the hell are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye to a friend, of course!” said the doctor. He stepped forward and the two briefly embraced. “And here, I’ve brought something for you.” Julian handed Miles the small, black box.

“What’s this?”

“A few new holo-programs I picked up from an Arcturian trader who passed through the station a few weeks ago.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I made copies of the ones I thought you, Keiko, and the kids might enjoy.”

“Did you? And just what exactly might those be?”

“You’ll just have to wait until you’re back on Earth to see, now, won’t you?”

 

They shared a brief look but ultimately Chief O’Brien just smiled. “Thanks, Julian.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 

He turned back to Jadzia, who was joined by the doctor as he stepped away from the airlock and the Chief opened the connecting doors. He gave a small wave. “You all try to keep the place from falling apart without me.”

“Don’t worry about the station,” Dr. Bashir answered.

“I don’t. It’s _you_ bloody lot that worry me.”

 

They laughed and said their goodbyes, and each watched as Chief O’Brien completed the undocking procedure and headed out, back towards Earth, his home, and his family.

 

“You’re unusually quiet,” Dr. Bashir noted as they headed back down from the upper pylon.

“Am I?” asked Jadzia, “I guess I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?”

“About everything,” she admitted. She couldn’t get the events from the past few days to stop circling around in her mind. The voice of the Prophets telling her that her time was up. The way Benjamin had sucker punched her, saying she wasn’t Dax. The conversation she’d had with Ezri at four in the morning in her guest quarters.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Julian asked.

 _Yes,_ Jadzia thought. “No,” she answered.

Dr. Bashir shot her a sidelong glance. He was concerned, obviously, but there was something more. There was guilt in his eyes, and she thought she knew why.

“Ezri told me about the two of you,” Jadzia said.  
“She did?” he said, “Oh, she did. Well… that’s good.”

“Julian, I don’t want things to be awkward between us.” She stopped walking just a few paces away from the main entrance to the habitat ring, not yet ready for any fragments of their conversation to possibly find its way to gossiping lips and ears. “I’m happy for you two, and I don’t want to come between that. But I also don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Julian told her, “Not after just getting you back. But… I can’t help the way I’m feeling. All these… loose ends.”  
“I know.”

Julian sighed and leaned up against one of the wall plates. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? When you’d first died, it was- well, a _relief_ to know I’d saved the Dax symbionte. To know at least that _part_ of you would keep on living. And then, well, when Ezri showed up- I mean, we were all so excited to have her! Or, at least, I was. And Captain Sisko was. It was harder on Kira. And Worf…” he puffed out his cheeks. _Dear lord, was it_ ever _difficult with Worf!_

Jadzia nodded. The words were hard to hear but a part of her knew she needed to hear them and she could tell Julian needed to say them. The one good thing about dying: you didn’t have to watch your loved ones suffer over your lose. Even for joined Trill, by the time a symbionte was placed in a new host, there was already distance created between the memories. It made interacting with those from past lives easier. At least somewhat. Usually. And it’s what she’d been trained for. But she’d had no training for this. There had been no courses on the Trill homeworld tackling how to handle _rising from the dead._

 

 _Everything’s different now_ , she thought. _Benjamin’s gone. Odo’s gone. Worf’s gone. Miles and his family are gone. Kira’s in change of the station. And, on top of everything, there’s a new Dax in everyone’s life. Is it really right for me to stand in the way of all of that?_

 

She realized suddenly that she’d allowed her thoughts to wander and she was no longer listening to what Julian was saying, who was still leaning against a bulkhead and seemed very much in the midst of his own crisis of conscious.

“--But had you not died, we never would have gotten Ezri,” he was saying. “I mean, I don’t even know if the Destiny would have stopped at DS9. Or if we would have met. Or if we even would have _liked_ one another. The way she talks about it, Ezri was a very different person before getting Dax. And, I suppose, some part of me always felt _bad_ for allowing any happiness to come from your having died. I think a lot of us felt that way. Of course I can’t speak for everyone, but…”

“It’s okay, Julian,” Jadzia said, “What you went through was very natural. It’s one of the reasons why friendships between Trill and other species can’t always survive the changing of a host.”

“But that’s just it!” Julian was saying, “Then _this_ whole situation comes flying into my lap. I mean, one moment I’m stepping off a transport after witnessing scores of disaster victims, and the next, _you’re_ alive!”

And Jadzia understood what he was saying. Now, not only did he feel guilt over loving someone who only lived because a friend had died, but also now for how many countless lives on Bajor had either ended or been dragged through Hell in order to give him that dear friend back.

 

 _I would never wish this storm on anybody,_ his eyes told her, _But I can’t say I’m sorry for it, either._

 

“Julian-- you didn’t _make_ this storm happen to save me. No one even knew my pattern was still on file at the station. You weren’t even on board. This isn’t your fault.”

“But it might as well be,” he said, “If I know in my heart that I wouldn’t change it, if given the chance.”

 

He looked to Jadzia for a reply, but she had none to offer.

 


	9. Chapter 9

In a move so uncharacteristic there was some serious concern that the whole station had fallen into another parallel universe, Quark was giving out drinks for free in the bar that evening. He’d taken it upon himself to put together a party, even re-activating the Vic holoprogram and leaving it running all night, to celebrate the return of his favorite Trill. Though, as Kira pointed out, the best vintages were unsurprisingly absent from the shelves.

 

“You just couldn’t stay away from me, could you?” Quark had said with a laugh as he embraced Jadzia. “Poor girl’s infatuation with me was so strong she couldn’t even rest in peace!”

Dax laughed as she hugged him back, running her hands along the back of his familiar and ever-colorful blazer. “You caught me,” she said, “And I heard you helped reserve my seat in Stovokor.”

“‘Helped’? Well, the whole idea was mine!”

“Quark,” Dr. Bashir chided with a laugh as he sat down at the table, drink in hand.

“Alright, maybe not _entirely_ mine.”

“Just the same,” Jadzia said, “Thank you.” And she placed a quick kiss against his cheek. Quark beamed as he picked back up his serving tray and went off to refill glasses.

 

Vic had come over earlier, when the guest of honor had first arrived, smiling with such enthusiasm that, for an instant, Jadzia forgot he was a hologram.

“What do you know, the Cat’s back! You got no idea how excited I was when I heard the news. Nearly blew a circuit in the holo-grid.”

“You didn’t think you’d be rid of me so easily, did you?”

“Never doubted it for a second! Hey, I’m taking requests for later on once this party starts swingin’. So, what’ll it be?”

 

Jadzia considered it a moment, before asking for the song Vic had sung at hers and Worf’s wedding. _What was it called, again? ‘All the Way’?_

 

Briefly, Vic’s sunny expression faltered. Then he recomposed himself. “Err, sure thing, Doll. Anything for you.”

 

As he’d walked away, Jadzia turned to Julian and Kira and raised a brow. “What was that about?”

Kira and Dr. Bashir shared a look. “It’s, err, nothing. Really.”

Jadzia didn’t buy it, and her expression said so. “What are you two not telling me?”

 

A silent debate went on between the two friends; a battle of the wills for who would be tasked with being the bearer of bad news. Ultimately, it was Nerys who sighed and looked back to Dax, “It’s just that… After you’d _—died_ , Worf… took it a little hard. He used to come in here and ask Vic to sing that song.”

“Oh, well… that’s not so bad.”

“No… until he’d start turning over tables and breaking the chairs and glasses.”

“Oh…”

“Have you… spoke with him, yet?” Julian asked, trying to divert the conversation.

Jadzia averted her gaze and took a long swallow of her drink. Instead of replying, she asked, “Is Ezri coming?”

“She said she might make it down. She’s got a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

“I see.”

 

The trio sat out the awkward silence, busying themselves with pretending to be interested in Vic’s performance. It wasn’t that he any less entertaining than usual, but they each had much larger things on their minds than 20th Century Earth songs that they’d all heard a dozen times before.

 

“It’s a shame Miles couldn’t stay for the party.” Kira said.

“I’m sure he’s here in spirit,” Quark said as he walked back over, “And I spoke with Rom and Leeta this morning. They send their regards.”

“How _is_ Rom doing?” Jadzia asked.

“Oh, fine. Just fine,” Quark said, placing fresh drinks in front of each of them before sitting down with a glass of his own, “Up to his ears dismantling the fine traditions of Ferenginar.”

 

Jadzia just looked at him, confused.

 

Julian leaned over and explained, “Zek made Rom the new Negus.”

“ _Really?_ ” Just when Dax didn’t think she could be surprised by anything else. “Well, _good_ for him! I couldn’t think of a better pair as royalty.”

“You want to talk royalty?” Quark said, shifting the topic as he sounded notably less enthused about his brother’s success than the rest of the group, “Martok is the new chancellor of the Klingon High Council, thanks to that husband of yours. Or, is it ex-husband, now? Does death annul a Klingon marriage? Not that it’s any of my business, of course…”

 

Quark went on talking, but Jadzia just felt her head begin to spin. Apparently, as she was quickly discovering, the personnel reports she’d made Julian download for her hadn’t done the station’s gossip justice. She returned to the reality of the moment where it seemed the conversation had come to a halt. Her friends, surrounding her at the familiar setting of their favorite holographic hang, all stared at her with alien expressions.

 

“Dax…” Kira said, and placed a hand on Jadzia’s shoulder, “Are you feeling alright?”

“What? Oh - of course. I guess I just have a lot to catch up on, don’t I?”

Quark huffed, “Funny how being dead will really put a dent in your social life.”

 

“…No kidding.” Jadzia couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. Actually, scratch that, she could. It had been when the memories of Dax’s scorned host had first started to surface. Joran. The way the world around her had seemed to have fallen off its axis. Every action around her, suddenly a threat. A hooded figure stalking her around every turn. Her environment, a confusing, angry blur as her psychology and biochemistry were sent spiraling down a dark abyss.

 

Exiting the holo-suit that night, long after the rest of the station had found comfort in distant dreams, Jadzia walked alone along the Promenade. Her friends, all rowdy and heavily intoxicated, had been surprised when she’d chosen to break away from the pack in favor of some silent contemplation. But whatever part of their minds had remained sober must have recognized the look in her eyes. The glint of an unstable fire that remained eternally lit somewhere deep inside the belly of her being. The anger of a madman that had once briefly colored her every action hostile and nearly destroyed her. Jadzia had several years ago come to terms with this nihilistic part of herself, but ever since its discovery, her temper had grown a wicked edge. So, when she had firmly stated her desire to be alone, apparently far less intoxicated by the eve’s festivities as the friends she celebrated with, they bowed their heads and surrendered to her request.

 

The only one who had lingered was Kira. The only member of the group who would _maybe_ understand the dangers and strengths that came from letting that flame burn on inside you. A fire could heat a home, after all, but could also burn one to the ground.

 

“I’ll stop by your quarters in the morning,” was all she said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

 

Jadzia walked the empty corridors, passing closed shops, empty science labs and observation lounges, the security office with its Bajoran militia member burning the midnight oil at Odo’s old desk, and eventually she found herself wandered through to the crew quarters. She stopped randomly at a door, only to discover it hadn’t been random at all. Ghosts and echoes of lingering memories had guided her to the room she and Worf had shared for far too short a time as a married couple. Jadzia put her hand against the door pad, only to remember her security clearance had long since been wiped from the station’s memory. It only added insult to injury when Dax remembered that even if she were able to enter with the use of her dead security codes, the room inside would not be the one she’d left. Surely Worf had packed up her belongings and his own some time ago. If only she’d known then, in what seemed to her as only a few days ago, that it would be her last memory of those walls, humble but contented, and she may have taken an extra moment to stop and look around her, to memorize the moment and how it had felt. To belong. To not be some floating remnant of a person, shattered remains of a life no longer hers, returning to friends to find their lives no longer in sync with her own. It had been war, but it had been home.

 

As she returned to her guest quarters, she found herself ruminating on the early discussion she’d had with Julian. What he’d said about feeling guilty for his happiness. She now felt it, too. Guilt over longing for a time in her friend’s lives that had been wrought with pain, death, lose, and fear — but to which she had belonged. And it was funny, in its own cruel way, how the station was as familiar to Jadzia as the back of her hand, but, in many ways, she felt as though she were just stepping foot on it for the first time.

 

Were the Prophets right? Had her game already been played?

 

_What am I doing? What’s the matter with me?_ she asked herself as she stripped down out of the clothes that had been replicated for her but were not hers, dropped them in the corner of the room that had been assigned to her but was not home, and climbed into the bed where she would sleep but find no rest.

 

Before the empty avalanche of the night found and swept her beneath it’s crown, Jadzia closed her eyes and made a singular, silent plea. Not a prayer, for she was not religious; more like a petition for the universe and whatever cosmic forces kept the eternal balances aligned in the chaotic, dizzying mess of worlds and lives and stars and memories she found herself falling through: _Please,_ she thought, _please let whatever missing parts of me I’ve lost be in that girl._

 

The Guardian could not get to the station soon enough.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning arrived like a whisper.

 

Jadzia for the life of her could not put together what had sent her into a spiral the night before. The sadness she had understood, even expected; it was the anger that troubled her. The way she had felt the walls closing in around her and how it had sparked from within her such a hot rage. She had never been the type with a short fuse. Curzon had, at times. Torias, a little. Joran, certainly. But not Jadzia.

 

She went to sickbay and made Julian check her isoboramine levels.

 

“Everything seems in order,” he told her.  
“Check again.”  
“Jadzia…”  
“ _Check them again!_ ” There it was. That _rage_ , again. She was seeing red. At least she caught herself this time. “… Please, Julian.”

He sighed, “Alright,” and he took her blood.

 

As they waited for the scans to finish up, Colonel Kira entered Dr. Bashir’s office.

 

“There you are,” she said.

 

_Oh, that was right!_ Kira had said she was going to stop by, hadn’t she?

 

“I’m sorry, Kira, I completely forgot.”  
“It’s alright. I was just worried when the computer told me you were in sickbay. Is everything alright?”

“I’m not sure,” Jadzia answered.

 

“Well I am,” interrupted Dr. Bashir, coming back over with her test results, “Jadzia, you are in _perfect health._ At least you are _physically._ ”

 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Dax asked, in no mood to allow for his normally-amusing dramatics.

 

“To put it plainly… I think you might benefit - on a multitude of levels - from a chat with the station’s resident _counselor._ ”

 

* * *

 

“Do you think she hates me?”

“What?”

“Do you think she hates me? Ezri?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

 

Kira stopped outside the previously empty room that had apparently in Jadzia’s absence been renovated into Ezri’s office.

 

“You’d have to ask her, yourself. I’m not the counselor.”

“But you know her.”

“You know her better than any of us.”

“No. _She_ knows _me_ better than anyone.”

“You’re eight-ninths of who she is, aren’t you? I’d say that’s knowing her pretty well.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“And you’re avoiding going inside.”

 

Kira had her there. Jadzia let out an agitated breath. “Alright,” was all she said.

 

“Do you want me to wait with you?”

“Don’t patronize me,” she said, but there was no real weight behind the words. Kira offered a coy smile and a nod before walking off.

 

Jadzia went into the small waiting room area and, sitting down, pressed the door chime mechanism to let Ezri know she had a patient awaiting her.

 

* * *

 

“Are you _crazy_?” Ezri asked over the comm link.

“I don’t know,” Bashir answered her, “That’s really more your area of expertise.”

“I can’t be her _counselor,_ Julian!”

“Why not? It’s what you’re trained for, isn’t it?”

“ _No one_ is trained for this,” she countered. “How can I remain objective when she’s literally a _part_ of me? There’s a conflict of interest!”

“Wouldn’t that actually be an _overlap_ of interest?”

“No! I don’t know. Maybe? It’s - It’s a confounding variable.”

 

Softly, she could hear Julian chuckle. She could practically sense the way he was shaking his head and smiling sweetly. He knew her moods. And he knew that when she got this way it was best to just listen kindly until she talked herself out of the cycle or had simply tired herself out. She sighed. He’d gotten to know her pretty well pretty quickly, hadn’t he? Her friends wouldn’t give her a task they didn’t think she could handle. And they wouldn’t entrust Jadzia’s sanity in Ezri’s hands without confidence she would be able to help. She just hoped this wasn’t the start of a pattern - first with Garak, now Jadzia - of those above her in the chain of command having more faith in her abilities than perhaps she deserved. Or at least more than she thought she did.

 

It posed an interesting conundrum, really, one she would have appreciated more were she not stuck in the middle of it: _How would reconciling the troubled mind of past life in the flesh compare to her own soul searching that she’d done inside her own head?_

 

Very fascinating. Very _frustrating_.

 

“She just needs a little help,” Julian said, softly, after a few empty beats of silence, sensing that Ezri had calmed down slightly and was hopefully thinking a little more with her head than with her chaotic heart. “She’s feeling lost. Like she doesn’t belong. And I can’t think of anyone better suited to help her overcome that.”

 

“I’ve barely overcome it, myself.”

“And _I’m_ the dramatic one?” She could practically hear him smiling. “Good luck. Have _fun!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah.” She ended the call.

 

Not five minutes went by before the chime sounded, alerting Ezri to the presence of a patient awaiting her in the amphitheatre of her office. She took a few breaths to steady herself before calling out, “Come.”

 

Jadzia wasn’t even through the door before she was saying, “This is ridiculous.”

“I just told Julian the same thing.”

“I bet he was as stubborn as Kira about it.”

 

At least there was humor in her predecessor's voice. At least she was not turning Ezri into the scapegoat for her frustrations. Ezri knew that transference was a pretty stedfast reality for therapists - where a patient would project their anger over a situation onto the very person trying to help them deal with it - but working to completely desensitize herself of its affect had been a challenge. One only made harder by the addition of a hot headed and overly proud symbionte whom she was still learning to master, one with about three hundred years worth of taking lip from exactly _no one_.

 

_You can do this,_ she told herself.

 

“I think it’s pretty safe to say a traditional therapy model isn’t going to be the most helpful here.” Ezri tapped the PADD she was holding with her stylis a few times before tentatively setting it down.

 

“What did you have in mind?”

“Why don’t we just start with you… telling me how you’re feeling.”

 

That sounded an awful lot like traditional therapy to Jadzia, and for a moment her face showed her reservations before she let it go and deferred to the other woman’s expertise. She began to pace around the room, hands on her hips, eyes towards the ceiling, the way she’d often appeared in Sisko’s office when he was helping her think through any one of her numerous spontaneous ideas and impulses. Ezri fought the smile from her face that gave away her recognition of the act. Thankfully, Jadzia seemed too busy being mildly annoyed at their mutual friends to have noticed.

 

“Upset. Sad. Confused. Like the walls are constantly closing in on me. Angry-”

“Angry?”

“Is that unusual?”

“Not necessarily.”

 

_Then why stop to ask me about it?_ The words were halfway up her throat before she bit them back down, catching herself before she’d wrongly aimed her frustrations without due cause. But the fiery stare must’ve persisted before she had the chance to stop it, and Jadzia saw Ezri visibly shrink in response. _Damn._ The girl was perceptive.

 

“So then what _is_ usual?”

Ezri made a face and countered, “What’s _‘usual’_ for a someone to be feeling who’s recently come back to life through transporter malfunction?”

 

Jadzia huffed a laugh. _Alright._ _Good point._

 

_She laughed. Oh, thank god she laughed,_ Ezri thought, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Living in Jadzia’s shadow had been intimidating in its own right, but Ezri was realizing now that it paled in comparison to how intimidating Jadzia _herself_ could be.

 

Jadzia flopped down onto the couch and brought her fingers up to her temples, rubbing in small circles.

 

Ezri lowered herself into her own chair. Her eyes scanned her patient briefly, and then she asked, “If you had to pick the one thing that’s frustrating you the most, what would it be?”

 

She had to stop and think about that one. She thought back over the past few days, visualizing in her mind the poignant moments, and tried to choose the items most salient. The most reoccurring.

 

“The not knowing,” she said, finally, with decent certainty.

 

Ezri considered this, nodding, and said, “A lot of events have transpired since your passing. It’s going to take time to reacquaint yourself with everyone.”

 

“No,” Jadzia said, shaking her head, “It’s not that.”

“Oh?”

“No. Well - I guess it’s that, too, but that’s… mostly just sad,” she explained, fighting to find the right words. “It’s not knowing the things about my _own_ life. The memories between when my pattern was copied and… what happened.”

 

“The Guardian will be here by tomorrow.”

 

“How did it happen?” Jadzia asked. Ezri stared blankly and Jadzia rolled her eyes in frustration. “How did I die?”

 

Ezri squirmed where she sat, saying, “Julian told me you read the reports.”

“Only the official ones. They didn’t have much detail.”

“Oh…”

 

Ezri was no longer making eye contact. In fact, she’d actually shifted slightly in her was seat and was no longer facing Jadzia entirely anymore, hands going up to run up and down her arms, hugging herself tightly. _She looks so small,_ Jadzia couldn’t help but think. _So young._

 

“It’s not really something I like thinking about,” she said, after a moment. Internally, Ezri scolded herself for losing her professionalism.

 

“Please.”

 

Ezri looked up and saw the pleading nature of Jadzia’s eyes. The way her forehead wrinkled in an expression of pain. And Ezri found herself in that terrible position again of having to choose Dax over herself. Slowly, she nodded. Jadzia let out a breath as Ezri closed her eyes and thought back to the seldom visited moment.

 

“I was - _You_ were at the Bajoran shrine. Talking to the Prophets. Trying to, anyway. Standing in front of one of the Bajoran Orbs. The one they keep here. The Orb of Clarity. And suddenly you heard a transporter beam… You turned around… It was Dukat, but something about him was wrong. His eyes. They were on fire. And the way he stood. Like some kind of giant. You reached for your sidearm, but before you could aim it at him, he stretched out his hand, and--”

 

She broke away from the memory, eyes snapping open and she jumped to her feet, turning away from Jadzia and hugging herself tightly. She was shivering. Close to tears. Torias’s shuttle accident was the memory that gave her the most trouble. But of all the host’s deaths, Jadzia’s had by far been the most painful. She could recall laying on the floor of the shrine for who knows how long until someone found her and rushed her to sickbay. Ezri shook her head and bit her lip and tried desperately not to cry. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want these memories. Didn’t want someone else’s pain. Someone else’s tragedy. Someone else’s final thoughts. _The baby,_ she remembered thinking, _my baby…_

 

A hand came up to rest on Ezri’s shoulder and she jumped, sucking in a sharp breath. For just an instant, she thought it was Dukat. Somehow having risen from her mind to finish the job he had started. _‘I know this is a small comfort, but I never intended you any harm…’_

 

But it wasn’t Dukat. It was Jadzia. The woman who had _actually_ gone through it, but who could not recall. _She’s better off not knowing,_ Ezri thought. _Who in their right mind would want these memories?_

 

“He was… possessed, somehow. By one of the pah-wraiths. The way Jake had been,” Ezri went on, a hand reaching up to cup Jadzia’s and she squeezed it tightly as she tried to ground herself in this moment. _It’s just a memory. It’s not even yours. It can’t hurt you,_ she told herself. “When he reached out his hand, suddenly, it was like the world was on fire. Everything. I - I was trapped. I couldn’t breath. I was lifted off my feet and I - I - _oh, god-!_ ”

 

She couldn’t do this. She _couldn’t_. She put a hand over her mouth and hunched over, fighting the painful sickness that accompanied the memory. She felt the hairs of her neck stand up as she broke into a cold sweat. She was shaking, squeezing her eyes shut tight, mumbling “-I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t…”

 

“It’s okay…” Jadzia said, “It’s alright.” Her words were far away too. When Ezri managed to open her eyes again and look up at her, Jadzia seemed lost in a distant memory, herself. Quietly, Jadzia started to speak, “It was… Fire. Everywhere. And this suffocating feeling. Like someone was crushing me.”

 

“Yes,” Ezri said, breathless, “How do you know that?”

“The other day. When I went into the shrine…”

“That was the vision you saw?”

Jadzia nodded.

 

They each stood in silence. Sobered by the shared memory. The dreadful, indescribable pain and helplessness of it all. How sudden and terrible and unnecessary it had been. Slowly, Jadzia helped Ezri to her feet and walked her back to the small couch. They each sat down and caught their breath. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The room was filled by the quiet sound of ragged breath.

 

“Why was I in the shrine?” Jadzia asked, eventually.

“You were talking to the Prophets.”

“Why? I don’t believe in them.”

“You did that day.”

 

Jadzia looked at her in a confused, absent way.

 

“Kira had told you that sometimes the Prophets… That they can help a couple… get pregnant.”

 

Jadzia’s lips parted, she looked as if someone had just knocked the wind out of her.

 

“A baby…?” she asked, eyes welling with tears. “With Worf…?”

Ezri nodded.

“But - how? I mean, Julian had said that we - that interspecies romances - especially between a Trill and a Klingon…”

“He’d found some sort of _‘ovarian resequencing enzymes-’_ ” whatever the hell _that_ meant, “-they were working.”

 

Jadzia was visibly crying now. But if she felt the steady flow of tears down her face she in no way acknowledged it. “A baby…” she said again, softly, quietly. Almost like a prayer.

 

If silence could shatter a moment, this one had done so. Each of the women found themselves broken. Weak. Leaning back against the loveseat feeling as though they’d been trapped under water too long, holding their breath inside them until it had turned their lungs to ash. Jadzia began to sob, and, with no other recourse, Ezri just put her hand on the tall woman’s back and rubbed in small circles. Jadzia cried into her hands and leaned against Ezri’s chest. They stayed that way a long while. Until the tears were all cried out and there was nothing left between them but empty and stale air, their hands gripped tightly around each other’s as the aftermath of pain left a sense of emptiness inside them each. There, in the belly of the space station, they felt light years away from any reality. As if the universe had swallowed them whole in some kind of cosmic singularity. There they sat, on the other side of hurt and anger and lose, and waited for their existences to return to them, each now ever so slightly more woven into the other.

 

“The Guardian will be here tomorrow,” Ezri said, again, though this time sounding robotic. Like the computer reading off the time when prompted.

 

“I know,” Jadzia answered.

“Everything will be clearer then.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I hope so,” Ezri told her, “And sometimes hoping is better than knowing, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two very heavy chapters in a row. Sorry, folks! Hang in there with me! There were a handful of core concepts that prompted me to write this story in the first place, and one of them is the upcoming chapter involving the Trill Guardian. We’ll see some more action, get some info that will further the secondary plot, along with a peak into some of the dynamics of Trill society. Stay tuned! Can you believe I originally thought this fic would only be 10 chapters max? So much for that idea! (Of course, that was before I realized I was going to be adding additional story elements.) As I continue to flesh out the ideas in my head, they’re just taking some more time than I originally predicted to properly manifest themselves in the story, and I don’t want to rush important and emotional moments like these for the sake of an action sequence. Anyway - as always, thanks so much for reading along and I sincerely appreciate any and all feedback provided. Keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter I’ll have it out as soon as I can.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been away for awhile. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around and kept this story or my profile on their watch list. Username changed, but same author. I wasn’t in a great place for a long time last year, and it led to some serious writer’s block. I took some time and worked on myself, and now I’m coming back to this story with fresh energy and a happier, healthier mindset! (Also: I finished my undergrad!! Yayy!!!!)
> 
> So, anyway, without further adieu: Welcome back, everybody! Let’s continue from where we left off…!

 

“Headache?” Kira asked as they waited in Ops for the Trill ship to come up on the scanners. Jadzia just nodded, eyes remaining shut for a moment, brow knit and contorted by the throbbing pain that had followed her from sleep that morning. 

“How long have you had it?”

“What?”

“The headache.”

“Oh.” 

It was a good question. Actually, now that Jadzia thought about it, she couldn’t be sure. The dull ache seemed to have been tailing her, always within arms reach, coming and going like waves against a seashore, for quite some time now. Maybe even since she’d re-materialized. 

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you mention it to Dr. Bashir?”

Jadzia shrugged. “He gave me a clean bill of health. Nearly shoved me out his office, too.”

“Well you have been under a lot of stress.” But it was clear from the Colonel’s expression how that answer satisfied none of her concerns. A thinly veiled fear draped itself over the conversation, light as the first dusting of an early Winter’s snow.  _ Does this have to do with the transporter accident? Were the connections in her synaptic pathways too weak and tenuous? Was she somehow going to degrade and fade away? Would losing her twice be twice as terrible as it had been the first time?  _

“I tried to send a message to Quo’NoS last night,” Jadzia said. 

“You did?” Kira sounded both parts surprised and relieved. 

Jadzia nodded. “Worf’s on a ship out on some kind of scouting mission deep into the Neutral Zone for the next several weeks. They couldn’t send anything through official channels for fear of giving away their location.” 

“Oh…”

“But…” and this was the first time Jadzia broke a smile that morning, looking up at Kira with a twinkle in her eyes, “I was able to get Martok on the line.” 

“He must’ve been excited to see you.”

She nodded. “Chancellorship looks good on him. He said there might have been another way to get a brief message to Worf’s ship.” At Kira’s encouragement, Dax went on to elaborate, “They sent a short radiation burst. It’ll look like regular subspace interference to the untrained eye.”

Kira still seemed confused. “But not to Worf’s vessel?”

Dax nodded. “Think of it like an  _ intergalactic smoke signal _ . But it had to be brief to not arouse suspicion along any of the Romulan listening posts.” Apparently, as she’d learned from Martok last night, without the Dominion War and a common enemy, the Klingons and Romulans had slipped back into their old rivalry.

“What could you send that would be short enough to not be detected but still let Worf know you’re alive again?” It wasn’t exactly like that was a story easily abbreviated. 

Jadzia’s eyes were distant. She looked out the view screen, far beyond Bajor’s stars, and smiled. “He’ll know…” was all she said. 

Then, suddenly, she rose to her feet. “There!” she said, aiming her chin to the main viewscreen as she went over to her old control station, “The Trill transport vessel… They’re hailing us.”

“Hailing frequencies open.”

Appearing on the viewscreen was a thin, weasley looking man with neatly combed hair and a somber expression. Lightly colored spots trailed down either side of his face and neck. His forehead was made up of a large, flat crest that stemmed from his nose and over his eyebrows, giving his face the distinct impression of the letter “Y”. 

“Space station Deep Space Nine,” he said in a voice deeper than expected from a man with such a thin frame. “This is Trill Transport Vessel, Jericho, requesting permission to dock.”

“Permission granted, Jericho,” Kira answered, “You’ll find an open docking port along the port side of the upper pylon. If you link your navigation to the station’s systems we can set the computer to guide you in.”

“Negative, station,” came the reply, “We will dock manually.”

Kira couldn’t help but throw a glance in Jadzia’s direction, who only shrugged in reply. Though somewhat confused, the Colonel saw no reason to refuse the man. “Alright. We’ll meet you at docking port three.” 

The man nodded and the screen went blank. 

“Charming,” said Kira, “isn’t he?”

Jadzia gave a slight laugh as she got up from the science station and they each moved to the Cardassian lift, “Guardians aren’t known for their interpersonal skills. That is, at least, interpersonal skills with  _ humanoids. _ ”

“What were those markings on his forehead?”

“The forehead ridges?” Jadzia asked. Kira nodded. “Trill lineage split several centuries ago. Some have markings,” she pointed to her own spots that ran along her neck, “Most, actually. Others, though, have a uniform bone growth over the brow line.”

“But he had both.” 

Jadzia shrugged, “Biracial pregnancies are known to happen from time to time. It’s difficult to carry the child to term, but not impossible.” Discussing the topic of a difficult pregnancy brought to Dax’s mind a grim and looming sadness, recalling the conversation and subsequent revelation about Worf’s and her own desire for a child. And though it was in part the kick in the teeth Jadzia had needed to finally reach out to him, she’d be lying if she said the concept of having that particular memory returned to her, linked with the knowledge that ultimately their plans had been cut short, wasn’t something she was exactly looking forward to. Nor a more vivid recollection of her own death in the Bajoran shrine. She began to take several deep, slow breaths to steady herself. 

Kira watched her friend through sidelong glances, but chose to say nothing. Instead, she pressed her commbadge and called for Ezri. 

“Here,” answered Ezri over the line.

“The Trill ship just came into orbit. Meet us at the docking ring.”

“Understood.” 

Kira and Jadzia road the lift in silence and waited for Ezri to join them before walking to the airlock. Dr. Bashir had also come along, a medical tricorder holstered to his hip. “We’ve converted one of the surgery rooms in the infirmary with the specifications on file from your last  zhian’tara.”

Jadzia nodded, “That should be enough. I assume the Guardian should have everything else with him.”

The ship docked and after a few minutes a tall man exited with a large shoulder pack slung across his thin frame and a rolling case, presumably filled with a sample of the chemically treated waters from the symbionte caves on the Trill homeworld.

“This was a difficult journey to make,” were the first words he spoke, “Most unconventional.”

“I’m sorry if it was any trouble,” said Ezri when Kira appeared momentarily at a loss for words, “The Symbiosis Commission didn’t seem too concerned when I spoke with them.”

The Guardian never even turned his head. If he’d heard Ezri speak, which it seemed impossible for him to have not, he made no indication of it. 

Instead, he locked eyes with Kira, “I spoke with you on the hail. You are in change of this station? Have preparations been made?”

Slowly, the Colonel looked to Ezri, who seemed  equally perplexed by the man’s strange behavior. “… Yes, that’s right. But you’d have to ask Dr. Bashir about that.”

On cue, Dr. Bashir stepped forward and extended his hand. “That would be me. Doctor Bashir. Or ‘Julian,’ if you prefer. And yes, all the preparations have been made. I can show you to the room we’ve converted for the ritual.” After a brief, disdainful look, the Guardian accepted the doctor’s hand weakly in his own.

Finally, the Guardian looked to Jadzia. “You are Dax?”

“Yes…” Jadzia said, before motioning to Ezri, “And so is she.” 

The Guardian barely glanced at Ezri. When he did, he looked down his nose at her, seemingly disapproving. “Yes. Well, I will go with your doctor and make the preparations.”

He walked off with Dr. Bashir, leaving the three women behind outside of the airlock. All with listless expressions. 

“What was  _ that _ about?” asked Kira.

“I’m not sure,” said Ezri. 

“Does he know you?” 

Both Ezri and Jadzia shared a confused look before shaking their heads.

“Strange.”

“Very.”

 

* * *

 

The Guardian looked about the room, scrutinizing the environment. He began to unpack his bags to set things up for the makeshift ritual. “Nothing like this has ever happened to a joined Trill before. There is a chance any attempt to transfer the memories back into the Dax symbionte may fail.”

“Well, I’m certain we can figure something out,” Dr. Bashir answered, “But, correct me if I’m mistaken, but they aren’t  _ transferring  _ the memories so much as they are  _ copying  _ them, yes? Ezri will still have her memories of the Dax symbionte’s lives.” 

“That has never been done before.” 

“I thought—”

“It was my understanding that the girl did not  _ wish  _ to be joined.”

“Well, maybe not initially, but Ezri—”

“Then she should be happy to be rid of them.”

He said nothing more, returning to his work, and Dr. Bashir felt some of the color bleed from his features. “Yes, well, if there’s nothing else you need from me at the moment…”

“You may go,” said the tall man. “Please return with a light modulator. The resonance of the artificial lighting in here may be harmful to the proteins in the pool.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with,” said Julian, and he rushed from the room to find Kira and Dax. 

 

* * *

 

 

As it so happened, Kira was the first of the group he ran into. 

“They can’t copy the memories?” she said once he’d recounted the conversation. She sounded both confused and outraged. Much a reflection of how the doctor, himself, was beginning to feel.

“Apparently not.”

“But they aren’t even going to try?”

“He didn’t sound too interested in going above and beyond the call of duty.”

“What the hell is his problem?” said the Colonel, no longer able to contain her agitation, “And at the airlock, he barely even  _ looked  _ at Ezri. He talked about her like she wasn’t even in the room! And now he’s not going to help her keep her memories?”

“He was under the impression she would be thankful to be rid of them.” 

“I don’t buy that for a minute.” 

They started towards the Replimat. Kira was silent for a few beats before saying, “... Would she?” 

“I… don’t know,” Bashir answered, honestly, “I suppose we were just operating under the assumption that Ezri would still  _ want  _ to be Dax, given the choice. But…”

“But she never wanted to be joined to begin with.”

“But now that she  _ is _ …”

“I know.”

“What if…?”

“I know.” 

They shared a look and each wondered if they were about to lose one friend in the process of gaining back another. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Has anyone ever tried to keep the memories after a  zhian’tara?” Julian asked after he’d retold the story of his interaction with the guardian for a second time. Both Daxes had fallen silent and set about staring at their standard issue replicated cafeteria trays.

“That I know of, the last time anything like that happened was when Odo wanted to keep Curzon’s memories,” Jadzia said, noting the way the mention of Odo’s name made Kira grip her fork a little more tightly. She set a hand over her friend’s forearm, but it didn’t seem to help the Colonel settle. 

“Ezri,” Kira said after a long pause, “You haven’t said anything. How’re you feeling about this?” 

As six eyes settled on the young Trill, Ezri felt a burning heat radiating up her neck that turning her ears red. Her eyes were on her hands, folded neatly in her lap. They were shaking. Almost imperceivable. 

“I don’t know,” she finally said. 

“There might be a way we could replicate the memories,” Julian said, his genetically enhanced mind beginning to race as calculations and theories flew around inside his skull, “Perhaps we could scan you both as the Guardian transfers the memories. If we can get a read on the physical changes the ritual has on your bodies, there’s a chance we could emulate the reaction, duplicating the synaptic patterns. Sort of like an old printing press copying from a proof, or maybe--”

“Do you  _ want  _ these memories?” Jadzia asked. 

The table went quiet. Ezri looked up at Jadzia, and her eyes were large, but empty. 

“Well, of course she does,” Dr. Bashir answered, but it came out sounding more like a question, “I mean… don’t you, Ezri?” 

“I… I, well, I’m not…” Her face was turning red. Right at that moment, Dr. Bashir’s comm badge chirped, and the relief for the diversion was evident in everyone’s features. 

“Yes?”

“Dr. Bashir,” came the monotone voice of the Trill Guardian, “The preparations are satisfactory. Please bring the patient before the chemicals in the pool begin to degrade.” Before Bashir could correct him, asking if he meant to bring  _ both  _ of the patients, the call had already been ended. 

“The sooner that gargoyle is off this station,” Kira said as they were all momentarily distracted, “The better.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We should begin,” said the Guardian not so much as a moment after the quartet entered the dimly lit space. As he stood over the flickering flames, the shadows and highlights danced about his gangly features, casting odd shadows from the crest above his nose. His pale skin attracted the orange glow, and that, coupled with his grave and unemotional tone, gave off the impression of a ghostly spectre rather than a man. 

“We still have a few questions,” Doctor Bashir began to say.

“Trill rituals are intimate, aliens should not be present for them.”

“But,” Ezri said, subconsciously reaching out to grip Julian’s hand in hers, “These are my friends. They were even hosts at my last zhain-” 

“The ritual may fail if there are distractions present.” The Guardian looked to Jadzia, casting little more than a disdainful sneer at Ezri as he cut her off, “Please, ask your friends to respect  _ our _ customs.” 

Only at a loss for words for but a moment, both Jadzia and Kira visibly tensed at the stranger’s latest in long line of dogmatic gestures. But, as Kira took a step forward, beginning, “Now, just a minute--” Jadzia was already placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder and locking eyes with the Guardian. Seeing as she seemed to be the only one he was giving the time of day, the Colonel begrudgingly yielded as Jadzia’s cold glare contrasted with the warm light of the fire as she stepped closer to the pit.

“I’d like to know something,” she began, nearing the gangly man with each sharply-uttered syllable. She nearly matched him in height, but, unlike him, she wore hers with the confidence of a trained Klingon warrior. The Guardian tensed slightly. “Why is it that every time  _ she  _ speaks,” Jadzia motioned behind her towards Ezri, “ _ You  _ look like you’ve just smelled a rotting vole carcass.”

“Well- I, just--” he stammered, clearly surprised by having been so plainly accosted. 

“I thought you Guardians were taught to respect the symbiontes,”

“We most certainly are. That you’d even suggest I-”

“And  _ you  _ have the audacity to talk down to a  _ Dax _ ? Who, I’ll remind you, among our many lives has been one of the first female legislators, headed the symbiosis commission, been a diplomat who all but single-handedly end the conflict between the Federation and Klingons, was an engineer to revolutionize the warp seven engine--”

“ _ She’s  _ not one of  _ those- _ ” 

“Like  _ hell  _ she isn’t!” 

“Well she  _ shouldn’t  _ be!” In one sudden, enraged motion, the Guardian thrust the railing that housed the symbionte pool beside him, and the entire contraption came clattering down. The fire toppled over and ignited the protein pool as  emergency lights began to flash as the computer’s automated fire suppression system kicked in. While Bashir, Ezri, and Kira flinched and each went about stamping out the places where the chemicals began burning a hole through the carpeting, Jadzia moved hardly a muscle as she and the Guardian starred each other down, noses nearly touching. 

In his agitation, the man stood huffing and puffing with such animation he looked more like a caricature than actual flesh and blood, and his features contorting as one of the ridges along his forehead pulsated visibly. Slowly, Jadzia began to nod, slowly, a knowing look behind her eyes.

“You were passed up by the Initiate program, weren’t you?”

Everyone turned to look at the Guardian, whose mouth hung open, slightly, as if Dax had just read aloud a page from his personal logs. 

Finally, he said, “I was deemed… biologically unsuitable for joining, yes.” The tone was bitter and dead on his lips. Words repeated to the point of no longer carrying meaning.

Ezri silently gasped as she made the same realization as Jadzia. “You were denied from the program because of your mixed lineage.”

For the first time, the Guardian turned and looked the shorter woman in the eye. Ezri grit her teeth and refused to so much as blink. 

“The Symbiosis Commission believed my genetic makeup too unpredictable to be considered as a host candidate.” 

“So that means you should take it out on Ezri?” Julian asked. 

“No,” Ezri answered this time, flatly, “It means he doesn’t understand why I was  _ lucky enough  _ to get the Dax symbionte.”

“You were joined out of necessity,” Bashir answered, still obviously baffled by the Guardian’s attitude. 

“He thinks I’m… ungrateful.”

“Aren’t you?” he said. The vacuum of space could hardly rival the silence that filled the room then. After a long game of chicken, Ezri lowered her gaze. The Guardian went on, “Do you have any idea how infamous you are? The  _ poor, _ lost, little girl,  _ doomed _ to be given one of the highest honors on Trill.”

“I never asked for this,” but the fight was out of her voice. 

“They should have removed Dax from you the instant you landed on the homeworld.”

“She might have died!” said Doctor Bashir. 

“Or Dax might have died! Dax might  _ still  _ die if she’s unsuitable biologically.”

“This has  _ nothing  _ to do with the safety of the Dax symbionte,” Jadzia said coldly, physically moving herself in between the Guardian’s line of sight and Ezri. “This is you taking out your frustrations from the Commission’s rejection of your application.”

The Guardian straightened up, and his voice returned to its cool monotone, “Perhaps,” he said, “But that’s your opinion. And it that doesn’t mean I’m going to cry over the thought of the symbionte’s memories being returned to its rightful host. I was sent out here to do a job. Now, would you like me to complete it, or not?” 

 

* * *

 

 

“This is ridiculous,” Kira said later, pacing around the upper level at Quark’s. The group had retired there for the evening following the emphatic encounter with the Trill Guardian. It would take at least a day to synthesize a new batch of the liquid the symbionte’s used for their telepathic links to hosts, anyway, after having let that which had been brought from the Trill homeworld seep into the infirmary’s carpet.

“It  _ is  _ ridiculous, isn’t it?” asked the Colonel when the only response she seemed to be getting was the dejected stares from her counterparts. She sat across from Ezri and said, “I’ll call first thing in the morning to the Trill Symbiosis Commission and demand they send us a different guardian. If you think for even a second I’ll let somebody talk to one of  _ my _ officers aboard  _ my  _ station like that, I’ll--”

She cut herself off when Jadzia began to laugh. 

“-And what exactly is so funny?” 

By this point, Julian had caught the bug, too, and they were each snickering into their drinks. 

“It’s just, well,” Jadzia shrugged, “You sound like such a  _ diplomat. _ ” 

The look of astonished offense that took up the Colonel’s face in response only set the two off laughing harder. And it wasn’t long before Ezri cracked a smile as well, tried as she did to hide it, and began to laugh. And, from there, it was only a matter of time before even Kira was laughing at herself, shaking her head in frustration. 

For just a brief moment, things felt just like old times. 

But they weren’t, and it wasn’t long before the laughing died down and the reality of the evening settled back down upon them all. And it was ultimately Jadzia who voiced the question on everyone else’s mind:

“Well?” she said, placing a gentle hand on Ezri’s arm, “What do you want to do?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Ezri said, looking anywhere but at her friends. 

“It’s your decision. Nobody else can make it but you.” 

Ezri sighed and looked out over the balcony, watching the Dabo wheels spin around and around and around… 

“I’m sick of making decisions,” she said, “I had to make one on the Destiny, I had to make one back on Earth with Benjamin, I’ve had to make half a dozen or more on here - first with Garak, then Nog… I’m tired of being the  _ ‘only one’  _ who can make a decision for someone  _ else’s _ life.”

“That’s part of the job,” said Julian.

“That’s part of life,” said Nerys. 

Ezri felt Jadzia’s thumb make small, calming circles against her skin. 

It was only later that evening, alone, in her quarters --- “I’m sorry, Julian, I just… need to be alone right now. You understand, don’t you?” --- that she was able to admit to herself the last thread holding her back. 

That maybe, maybe, it would be nice to have Ezri Tigan back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming soon :)


End file.
